


Find these Dormant Fractures and Fill them with Gold ‖ Part I: Death.

by OrbeaVariegata



Series: Find these Dormant Fractures and Fill them with Gold [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Geonosis (Star Wars), M/M, More tags to come as I go, Post-Battle of Geonosis, and prove myself to be quite clueless in the process, but i wanted to try that, i might bend the whole canon narrative quite a bit, i'll have to keep the characters and relationships uptdated as i go, landing at point rain, my choice of writing about a certain character might look a bit indulgent, please be nice to this gentle heart, so don't judge me, this might become violent so buckle up, well i can just come out and say that it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2019-10-31 03:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 45,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17841203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrbeaVariegata/pseuds/OrbeaVariegata
Summary: The Clone Wars have been raging for over two years now, and there's no end in sight.Despite their allegiance to the same side, Qui-Gon Jinn finds himself painfully at odds with his former Padawan.





	1. A Riptide in Shallow Waters

It was truly an embarrassment of riches, displayed both by the extravagant costumes of the noble and wealthy guests as much as by the opulent and diverse food available at the huge buffet.

Qui-Gon wandered aimlessly among the lines and lines of heavily loaded tables.

 

Most of the food he did not even know the name of, let alone the ingredients it contained – even though he’d seen more of the galaxy than many of the guests present. And eaten his fair share of foreign grub.

 

He had kept his own meal simple, a dish of vegetables and bread, followed by a healthy fill of mashed berries and jogan fruit, washed down with sweetened tea that had left a sugary aftertaste at the back of his tongue. He’d tried to get rid of it by discreetly gargling down some water, but the taste stubbornly stuck to his throat.

 

Now, long and tiresome hours after the official part of the festivities was dealt with, his back was already aching from bowing to the mass of guests he’d been introduced to by various members of the Senate. He was glad the celebrations would soon boil down and be done for – three days of this were more than enough in his humble opinion. Of course, he’d had no say in this beforehand.

 

Neither had the Council, for that matter.

 

The Jedi, those who’d had the opportunity to attend, were once again a mere staffage at this illustrious event, meant to impress through their serene appearance rather than conversational intellect – a soothing counterpart to fluttering gowns and (at this hour of the night) obnoxiously loud political discussions.

 

Qui-Gon had frowned at the prospect when it had first been discussed in the Temple. It had reminded him of the days before the war, simpler missions in simpler times. For once, it had not been a memory laced in nostalgia.

 

This revelation had surprised him and eventually prompted his assent to the invitation. The fact that he didn’t need Master Yoda to nudge him into going actually amused him a little bit, if only at first.

 

By the time the fourth celebratory speech had ended he’d diligently questioned his own judgement.

 

Qui-Gon stifled a yawn by disguising it through a low bow to a bypassing Senator and his attaché. It wasn’t the first time that night that he’d had to mask his emotions, but it was getting more frequent, and he feared he might eventually slip. He was getting tired.

 

A short while ago Qui-Gon had spotted Mace Windu in conversation with a young Twi’lek royalty, clad in a voluptuous and revealing red dress that almost merged with the tone of her skin. The Twi’lek almost spilled her drink while gesturing wildly at the Jedi Master.

 

Qui-Gon had felt compelled to turn away and hide a smirk behind his hand. Mace’s overly polite face – hilarious only to those who knew his actual sentiments about Republic festivities – had spoken encyclopedias, truly.

 

Mace had shot him a warning frown when he caught Qui-Gon’s eye, and Qui-Gon had felt compelled to avoid his company for the rest of the evening in case the Council Master needed to verbally let off some steam.

 

He could find himself another victim for that, thank you very much.

 

Presently, Qui-Gon felt a growing unease about not being able to find his former apprentice in the crowd.

 

He should be used to Anakin maneuvering through events like these on his own, but he still felt a paternal obligation to not let the boy blabber himself into a corner.

 

Anakin had a knack for nervous talking on occasions like that. Qui-Gon had often, during his apprenticeship, jokingly referred to Anakin’s lack of talent on the diplomatic field the absolute bane of his existence. To be fair, it wasn’t happening nearly as often as it once had.

 

Still, he sent a meek tug through their Padawan bond. The answer came shortly, a reassuring sensation settling in his guts.

 

Anakin was alright, probably tiring out a certain Naboo Senator and her handmaidens with anecdotes about what he’d once quipped “the boring-Jedi life”. The thought made Qui-Gon grimace in half-amusement. Luckily for Anakin, the Senator in question didn’t mind at all, and neither did her companions judging by how they always flocked around him when he showed up in their midst.

 

Qui-Gon made to join Anakin’s little crowd when a sudden bright light in the corner of his eye caught his attention. For a quick second he had to fight down the urge to react to a threat that did not actually exist. His hand stopped just short from his belt and he forced himself to relax

 

These people, armed with holo-recorders and datapads, and flashing pictures of today’s participants, were here upon _special_ invitation from Chancellor Sheev Palpatine. And they weren’t shy to tell everyone just that if one was to question their attendance.

 

Qui-Gon was used to biting his tongue about that, voicing his dismay about the Chancellors fondness of the media spiel only to those closest to him. Thus, he contended himself with frowning once the reporters turned their backs in search for another victim.

 

Anakin, who must have felt some of his apprehension through their shared bond, sent something akin to a teasing smirk. Qui-Gon repressed a huff at that and promptly found himself swamped by a horde of Senators eager to be featured on their very own holo.

 

Qui-Gon used the frenzy to politely bow out of the throng, glad to escape the prying lenses of those holo-journalists. The Republic press would be on all of their heels yet again, anyway, covering the Chancellor’s festivities from all kinds of different angles.

 

Soon the holonet was going to be full of reports about the occasion, some less discreet than others.

 

The amount of pictures taken of Mace’s company told Qui-Gon of what the actual focus of many reporters really was. At least it diminished the chances of the media potentially pulling this attempt at a peaceful gathering of the allied systems into shreds before the eyes of the public.

 

It wouldn’t do much about serious political coverage, anyway, but this rampant light high-society sensationalism was at least preferable to the more depressing war reports coming in from the front lines.

 

“No shit, Master,” he heard Anakin say in his head, sarcasm at full volume, and felt himself bristle up like an old bird puffing up its feathers.

 

Sometimes, their mutual bond was still way too strong for the fact that Anakin had been knighted almost two years ago. It was something special, though, something that Qui-Gon treasured very much. But at times like these, it was also a tiny bit annoying.

 

“Likewise, Padawan,” he sent back and made to tighten his shields. Better not give in the temptation tonight and have Anakin comment on his every thought for the rest of the evening.

 

After another hour of aimlessly ambling trough the ballroom, Qui-Gon let the fatigue get the better of him. He dove through the crowds towards the doors, finally ready to follow Master Yoda who had wisely elected to retire to the Jedi Temple early.

 

A flash of copper caught his eyes and halted him in his steps, chasing the beginnings of a mild headache right out of his mind.

 

Qui-Gon ducked his head and squinted slightly, trying to make out the source of his distraction through a line of people readying themselves to join the few couples on the dance floor. Moments later, the people cleared away, treating Qui-Gon to sight that had long ago become a rare one indeed.

 

The man stood at the far side of the wall, leaning at a high table with his arms crossed before him, a hand entangled in his beard in deep contemplation. His eyes, oblivious of his quiet observer, were scanning the crowds of people with an unreadable expression.

 

The robes he wore were simple and clean, almost a crisp white in the dim half-light, which gave him the look of foreign detachment smack in the middle of the cheerful festivities enclosing him. His copper hair, sharp and freshly cut, were what had startled Qui-Gon, gluing his feet right where he stood.

 

The sight of the man, taller than he had ever remembered him to be, made the heart clench painfully in Qui-Gon’s chest.

 

General Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Council’s Golden Boy.

 

Qui-Gon swallowed, then frowned slightly at the thought, which had come unbidden, gnawing away at the happy flutter he’d felt in his belly at first recognition.

 

Qui-Gon had not seen the Jedi for many months, perhaps even stretching into years.

 

Not in person.

 

Not this close.

 

Despite Obi-Wan’s election as one of the youngest Council Members in Temple history not long after that ugly battle on Geonosis, and attending meetings on Coruscant, General Kenobi spent most of his time deployed all over the Galaxy.

 

Well, to be honest, Qui-Gon would not have to go far out of his way to _see_ the General – his face was plastered all over Coruscant, as part of the Chancellor’s priced war propaganda. And the holonews would tell him, day after day after day, how General Kenobi was leading his battalion through various war-related disputes, both against the Separatists and rebellious outbreaks within the Republic itself.

 

It disgusted Qui-Gon to no end, seeing Obi-Wan like this, wearing the golden armor with the number “212” written across his chest plate and shoulder protectors.

 

At least, General Kenobi wasn’t wearing his chest plate on this special occasion, had even refrained from donning his fancy brassards today.

 

Qui-Gon fought down a bout of profound heartache as he contemplated all this.

 

How far they had grown apart, how far Obi-Wan had strayed from the young Padawan he once used to be.

 

Qui-Gon had never understood the way he had cut off basically all contact with him and Anakin after his Knighting. It had pained Anakin deeply and for Qui-Gon, well, he couldn’t say he ever had fully recovered from the sudden loss of his much beloved apprentice.

 

He allowed his thoughts to wander, all the way back to Obi-Wan’s Knighting, transfixed by the sudden reappearance of his former Padawan, crowds and festivities and politics momentarily forgotten.

 

Back in the day, not quite ten years earlier, Qui-Gon had been barely able to stand up straight when he severed the Padawan braid from its owner, which had by then been hanging almost down to his chest.

 

It was only a few weeks after the Theed debacle, and the Ceremony had taken place only a mere ten-day after they’d returned to Coruscant.

 

The lightsaber wound, afflicted during the battle deep in the bowels of Naboo’s palace, had taken its toll and throbbed in his belly, but Qui-Gon had insisted on attending this Ceremony in the Coruscanti Temple, and oversee it in person.

 

At Qui-Gon’s own suggestion, Obi-Wan’s Knighting and the official introduction of Anakin Skywalker as Qui-Gon Jinn’s new Padawan had been amalgamated into one.

 

So, when Obi-Wan, flushed with excitement and practically humming with a new inner light, had offered him his severed braid as a parting gift, Qui-Gon had taken his bead awarded for his flying skills and put it onto Anakin’s newly fashioned braid:

 

It was a sign of the deep connection he had hoped to forge within the three of them as well as a reward for Anakin’s selfless heroism during the battle of Naboo.

 

The ceremony had been meant to kindle a lasting union between Obi-Wan and Anakin, his new Padawan brother.

 

But Obi-Wan had had different plans, apparently, as he had asked Master Yoda for a solo mission almost immediately after being Knighted. Stealthily, Obi-Wan had vanished from their shared quarters, then been gone for more than a fortnight. And then…

 

Since that time, Qui-Gon had barely exchanged words with him at all, too different were their respective mission schedules, and too rarely were they even on the same planet.

 

Their separation had been a bafflement to Qui-Gon at first, then an irritation.

 

It had taken Qui-Gon almost three years to realize that Obi-Wan had effectively, and deliberately, broken their connection to each other.

 

The thought still held a cold sting in his chest, and as much Qui-Gon meditated on the reason for their rift, he couldn’t reach a conclusion, only painful awareness of an empty space that had once been filled with vivid life, a valuable bond dissolved into nothingness.

 

Anakin, on the other hand, had made his own peace with the situation, especially after meeting his Padawan brother by enforcing his ranks on a desperate battle field. Since then, whenever Anakin’s 501st had had the honor to fight alongside the General’s 212th, he’d been full of appreciation for the soldier Obi-Wan had become.

 

It made him bitter, Qui-Gon was self-aware enough to admit that.

 

Anakin, young and full of zest for life, had forged his own unique connection with Obi-Wan Kenobi, one that Qui-Gon was unable to join. They’d struck up a friendship of another kind, a camaraderie that Qui-Gon had not anticipated on the day he made them into brothers.

 

It was a brotherhood forged on the battlefield, and that was what pained Qui-Gon Jinn the most, for it was a shared hardship rather than a shared tutelage that linked them now.

 

All his childish joshing aside, Anakin had grown into a man amidst bombs and blasterfire. And he’d glued himself to General Kenobi, of all people, himself toughened by the war, bent and twisted into a creature Qui-Gon could barely recognize.

 

People all over the Galaxy called him the Negotiator, Qui-Gon mused, his heart giving a slight flutter at the thought.

 

Apparently, he had left his mark on his old apprentice after all.

 

Obi-Wan’s skills were rumored to even outshine Qui-Gon’s own and, for better or for worse, Qui-Gon was proud of that, even being deprived of having the pleasure of watching Obi-Wan maneuver his way to a settlement.

 

Still, nowadays General Kenobi, as Qui-Gon usually called him even in his thoughts now, seemed to be little more than a gear wheel of the war these days. The holonet was full of stories about his campaigns and, to outsiders, it must seem as if the war was run by his battalion alone.

 

The General, as presented within these reports, seemed thoroughly embedded in Republic affairs.

 

The old spark within Obi-Wan, the young Jedi eager to question everything and to defy rules if he had to, seemed to Qui-Gon long gone and forgotten.

 

Qui-Gon roused himself from his contemplations, almost feeling an urge to shake himself awake.

 

He couldn’t even say how long he’d been just standing there, eyes fixed on the General, mere feet from where he stood.

 

Just as he readied himself to leave at last, the General’s head turned in his direction. His blueish green eyes met his own, and maybe Qui-Gon only imagined the sudden pallor creeping on his former Padawan’s face, but the shadows underneath his eyes and the hollowness in his cheeks were undoubtedly there.

 

It was another punch in the gut to see how tired he looked once his official bearings were startled away.

 

The General straightened himself up, his gaze never leaving Qui-Gon’s face. Without even thinking about it, Qui-Gon felt his feet carry him closer to Kenobi, and he saw his old apprentice turning towards him.

 

His head felt light, as if he’d breathed in too much oxygen.

 

Suddenly, with Qui-Gon almost halfway there, the General frowned and averted his gaze. Qui-Gon’s breath hitched in his throat at the sudden dismissal before he saw the source of the General’s distraction.

 

A clone trooper, clad in his golden chest plate and armor, had noiselessly appeared on the Kenobi’s side. He whispered something into the General’s ear and, without hesitation, Kenobi followed the clone right out of the hall, without affording his old master another glance.


	2. Like Flotsam, never break the Surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stranded in the Temple, Qui-Gon has time to think.

Almost two full ten-days passed without another encounter and Qui-Gon contented himself with the thought that General Kenobi had left Coruscant yet again, as seamless as if he’d never been there at all.

 

Qui-Gon imagined him in some remote part of the Galaxy, already up to his eyebrows in new battle strategies and troop movements. Tracing frontlines, strategizing with an eye always on the three-dimensional holomap visualizing the vastness of space, the alignments of systems marked with little dots of color.

 

The notion of navigating the sheer scope of the war was something Qui-Gon himself had only a distant understanding of.

 

He was well-versed enough in negotiation tactics as well as close combat (thank you very much), and if he prided himself on anything it was his ability to use even the harshest circumstance to his full advantage. In fact, many a system had relied on his skill and cunning to not succumb to mayhem caused by civil unrest or failed leadership.

 

But the intricacies of expansive space fights escaped him.

 

How to coordinate airborne squadrons, keep ground troops in check and not lose sight of the big picture amidst an endless stream of input from all sides … the concept alone made Qui-Gon dizzy in the head.

 

He had once assumed Obi-Wan to be no different, but the General seemed to thrive on what looked like virtual chaos to Qui-Gon Jinn.

 

Pacing the Temple and waiting on his new assignment, Qui-Gon was reduced to try and picture his old Padawan in the thick of something like an intergalactic dispute, but it was to no avail.

 

The whole idea of General Kenobi was as foreign to him as the notion of going to war himself. And yet, Obi-Wan was only one amongst the majority of Jedi who joined the fight immediately following the schism within the Republic.

 

For those other Jedi, Qui-Gon chose not to openly oppose their decision.  (In his mind, though, he still thought them too compliant to political despotism, and Mace Windu was very apt to tease out this particular judgment. Back then, it had almost threatened their friendship, but the moment had passed and Mace had, quietly, conceded to some of Qui-Gon’s arguments.)

 

Unnerved as he was by the Jedi’s instant and unquestioning preparedness to follow the Senate’s orders, Qui-Gon was realistic enough to see how the Order’s allegiance to the Republic had to be visibly upheld.

 

But in Obi-Wan he had hoped to have instilled more of his own sense of insubordination.

 

Qui-Gon Jinn (with Mace’s grumbling consent) counted himself as one of the few lucky outliers who’d escaped the craze by focusing on the Jedi’s true vocation: He travelled the Galaxy – granted that it was safe for him to do so – to act as a peacemaker and midwifing valuable treaties, settling minor disputes, and occasionally acting as a safeguard for planetary representatives and various Senators.

 

So far, he had managed to stay out of the worst the war had to offer.

 

At the moment, though, the afterpains of the Chancellor’s festivities could be felt on Coruscant.

 

The airspace had to be kept clear for the guests to depart safely. It was, everyone on Coruscant was assured, only a safety measure.

 

But the temporary inactivity it had forced Qui-Gon into vexed him to no small measure.

 

The war had not miraculously halted for the Republic festivities, Qui-Gon had to remind himself repeatedly. It was reasonable for the government to stick to safety protocol.

 

And yet, he itched to leave the planet, too.

 

In fact, Qui-Gon had expected to be called to action rather sooner than later. With Chancellor Palpatine’s invitations had come a fresh surge of hopefuls – planets that had been neutral up to then had suddenly signaled their preparedness to join the Republic.

 

Qui-Gon had applauded the Chancellor’s timing. But that was before he’d found out that he wasn’t going to be able to join the negotiations.

 

Too important his presence at the ball had been deemed by the Chancellor and his advisors, and the opportunity had been given to another.

 

Even before the battle on Theed Qui-Gon Jinn had been some sort of a favorite of Sheev Palpatine.

 

His involvement in the dissolution of the Trade Federation’s occupation of Palpatine’s home planet had only fortified Palpatine’s lasting esteem for him, personally, and the Jedi as a whole.

 

Qui-Gon bristled at the thought of being one of Palpatine’s figureheads, even though his position had its obvious merits, which Qui-Gon knew to benefit from.

 

In fact, the regard he held helped him keep out of the Chancellor’s inner circle by applying his talents to the Republic’s many causes.

 

In some peculiar way, Qui-Gon had managed to stay off Palpatine’s immediate radar by being one of his most favored negotiators.

 

It was a weirdly comfortable position to be in, and it kept him from having to report in the Senate’s Rotunda unless explicitly called for.

 

Qui-Gon found himself staring out of the window at nothing in particular and sighed, his breath dulling the glass.

 

The sun over Coruscant a blinding disc behind urban clouds, Qui-Gon’s choices to pass the day were few. He could continue aimlessly wandering the Temple or attend to crèche duties, assisting Master Yoda with the younglings.

The prospect of alternatively helping Jocasta Nu in the archives seemed equally unappealing.

 

It made Qui-Gon uneasy, being so unenthused about everyday Temple life. This wasn’t entirely out of character, but the absence of his usual eagerness to roam the archives for the occasional lucky find was disconcerting.

 

Eventually, the brightness of the day illuminating the dim half-light of the corridors lured him outside, blinking. It made him contemplate going out of his way and spending the afternoon meditating in the city gardens outside of the Jedi Temple, something he rarely got the time to do – as well as something many of his peers were silently frowning upon.

 

Qui-Gon could only smile at their disapproval. The currents of the Living Force, while strong in the Temple, were full with potential and promise outside, where one could find themselves surrounded by all sorts of beings.

 

True, it took a great deal of learning and practice not to get lost within the turmoil their collective energies could evoke. But it was definitely worth the try, even if it was something none of his Padawans had ever learned during his tutelage.

 

Obi-Wan, especially, hadn’t been able to endure what he deemed to be chaos, feeling the Force signatures around him like pricks of countless tiny needles on his skin. He’d always preferred the silence and comfort of solitary meditation to the buzz and blunder of a big, crowded city.

 

Anakin on the other hand had enjoyed the out of Temple meditations, once he’d managed to settle into them. But he’d been prone to get lost within all the different currents, and reappeared from the trance even more agitated than before, diminishing the effects Qui-Gon had wanted to impose on the boy.

 

Qui-Gon chuckled silently ad the memory of trying to get Anakin to relax a little after one of their meditations. It was on one such occasion that Anakin had finally wised up enough to suggest they lay off of that particular exercise for a while. Qui-Gon, who’d waited for Anakin to come to that conclusion himself, had heartily agreed, pleased at the boy’s insight.  

 

Qui-Gon was already on his way outside, having forgone a last trip to his apartment in order to be able to spend more time outside, when his comlink buzzed, cutting short all plans for mediation.

 

He bit back a groan. He hated being required to wear those devices on his sleeve even in the Temple, but that cursed war had made it a necessity, like so many other things.

 

The sight of an old friend (a miniature hologram version of him, anyways) chased the frown off his face and the meditation plans out of his mind.

 

He was summoned to attend a Council meeting and to receive his new mission directives by the one Mace Windu himself.

 

Qui-Gon turned on his heels immediately, making a beeline for the Council Chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and your nice comments so far <3


	3. Ripples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Council has a new mission for Qui-Gon Jinn.

Qui-Gon hadn’t seen enough of Mace these days, what with him being occupied at the Rotunda for the most part of Qui-Gon’s involuntarily extended Temple visit. Qui-Gon felt his forehead wrinkle again. Somehow, his long-awaited ticket off-planet now seemed less welcome than it was just a second ago.

 

He realized, once again, how the war – and probably Qui-Gon’s various attempts to escape it – had managed to drive him further apart from his peers than even he – a recluse by his own volition – felt comfortable with. The thought made him purse his lips, and made him resolve to meditate on this in the near future.

 

Halfway on his way to the antechamber, Qui-Gon was surprised to bump into Anakin Skywalker ambling in from the great atrium. Anakin himself had been quite stranded on the planet for the last fortnight, but had rarely been at the Temple at all. The glow in his cheeks and the vivid spark in his eyes told Qui-Gon enough of how different Anakin’s days on Coruscant had been from his own.

 

Anakin greeted him with a cheery smile and another jovial push at the elbow.

 

“I take it you fared quite well with your confinement to native soil,” Qui-Gon quipped.

“Better than you did, apparently, Master,” Anakin replied with a fiendish grin

 

Qui-Gon felt compelled to return the push but instead settled with a playfully stern frown.

 

“Are you here for Master Windu’s call?” Anakin asked.

  
“Indeed I am,” Qui-Gon replied, feeling his eyebrows rise with curiosity.

 

They had seldom worked together since Anakin’s Knighting, despite their readiness to take great pains to see each other quite regularly. The prospect of a joint mission made his old heart quiver with excitement.

 

Anakin smiled up at him, still needing to crane his neck to look into his old master’s eyes even though he’d outgrown almost all the other human Jedi in the Temple.

 

He seemed to have heard Qui-Gon’s thoughts quite well, rewarding his last sentimental notion with a sarcastic tug through their bond.

 

“Almost feels like good old days, doesn’t it, Master?” Anakin laughed, motioning for Qui-Gon to precede him into the entryway.

 

“Don’t you jinx us yet, Padawan,” Qui-Gon huffed.

 

“With our luck, we’ll be hauled to the other end of the Galaxy together again. Good old days, indeed.”

 

“Wasn’t so bad,” Anakin countered good-naturedly when they finally reached the antechamber.

 

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to berate his old pupil about crammy space transport and inedible spaceport food, but was cut short by the Council aide ushering them into the Council Chamber.

 

As usual these days, the Council was nowhere near complete, with various members deployed on active war duty.

 

Only Master Windu and Master Yoda, the two fixed stars of the Coruscanti Temple, were attending the meetings fairly regularly. Apart from Ki-Adi-Mundi, Luminara Unduli and few others, half of the seats were empty.

 

Mace sported his usual official-no-nonsense Jedi visage but underneath, Qui-Gon could make out that the reason for his summoning wasn’t quite as dire as he might have feared.

 

Master Windu, hardly known for polite chatter and long introductions, cut straight to the chase.

 

Qui-Gon was grateful for that, given that Anakin’s patience wore thin pretty easily and his own long wait on Coruscant had made him jittery, even despite himself.

 

At any rate, their apprenticeship had ended too long ago for Qui-Gon to berate the young Jedi for fidgeting in front of the Council, and Anakin had become quite adept at keeping his nervous habits at bay when he needed to.

 

“Master Jinn,” Mace announced, surprising Qui-Gon by using his official title,

“the Council is glad to inform you that the planet of Geonosis has finally agreed to sign a peace treaty with the Galactic Republic.”

 

Qui-Gon felt a relieved sigh rise from deep within his chest, mimicked by Anakin next to him. The name Geonosis had given him, for various reasons, a bitter taste in the back of his mouth ever since the beginning of the war.

 

In that, too, Anakin was no different, and Qui-Gon felt the thrum of anticipation and approval through their shared bond.

 

“The Senate has requested a Jedi delegation to oversee the signing of the treaty,” Mace Windu continued, keeping a close eye to both of them.

 

“Therefore we ask you, Master Jinn, to return to Geonosis. Your assignment will be to survey the signing and to report both to the Senate and the Council upon your return.

 

Knight Skywalker,” Mace turned his gaze to Anakin, “you will accompany Master Jinn as his official attaché, at request of the Chancellor’s advisory staff.”

 

Qui-Gon bowed in acceptance of the assignment but felt a slight prickle on his skin as Anakin bristled up.

  
“Masters, would it not be a good idea to include Master Kenobi in this mission?” Anakin asked.

 

Qui-Gon straightened himself up and glanced at his former apprentice in surprise, then looked back up at the Council members questioningly.

 

To his astonishment, the General’s seat was also empty, something that he’d failed to notice before.

 

General Kenobi usually made time for Council appointments, but this time did not even attend the meeting via hologram transmission.

 

It was just as well, seeing Mace Windu and Master Yoda exchange a quick glance. Qui-Gon was quite glad of the General’s absence, even as it pained him not to see him there.

 

Anakin just stood there, eagerly waiting for the Council’s reply.

 

Qui-Gon stifled a mental groan and tugged at his bond with Anakin. His latest Padawan appeared to be plotting, and it wasn’t a good sign at all, not in this context.

 

Qui-Gon was quite aware of Anakin’s repeated efforts to reconcile him with his older Padawan brother, but it was usually to no avail.

 

General Kenobi was a busy man, and besides, Qui-Gon felt deep in his guts that Obi-Wan had no intentions of joining a mission with his old teacher, anyway.

 

By the Gods, he wasn’t even sure if he’d himself liked the prospect of working a mission with Obi-Wan Kenobi. At this point, the man his old Padawan had become was a virtual stranger to him.

 

Mace shot Qui-Gon another wary look before answering.

 

“Master Kenobi is currently deployed on another mission and cannot be spared, Knight Skywalker. It is therefore that the Chancellor’s advice was for you to accompany Master Jinn to Geonosis. The Council, too, deems it to be important that you convey the Republic’s goodwill towards the Geonosians, especially given your involvement in former Republic campaigns on Geonosian soil.”

 

Master Yoda hummed along, nodding his wise old head at them both.

 

Anakin bowed to that, a sheepish expression on his face.

 

Qui-Gon couldn’t help but feel apprehensive at the thought of Anakin on Geonosis. The Council might be right to ask Anakin to be there as a conveyor of benevolence, especially given the grave losses suffered by the Republic on both occasions.

  
And not just by the Republic as a whole, Qui-Gon thought to himself, carefully shielding himself from Anakin as he regarded the glove on his old Padawan’s right arm, hiding his prosthetic hand from view.

 

Fodder for another meditation, he deemed, before allowing his thoughts to return to the matter of hand.

 

At any rate, the Council’s plan seemed to be a thin line to thread, between goodwill and utter affront, and he didn’t particularly like the idea of Anakin’s presence on the planet alone being a threat to the treaty.

 

It had been Anakin Skywalker, after all, who’d managed to shut down the energy shielding of the Geonosian capital and further the planet’s eventual defeat.

 

A quick glance and the way the Force thrummed around them told him that Mace Windu and the rest of the Council were well aware of the matter, so Qui-Gon decided against bringing it up.

 

Besides, he had no doubts as to Anakin’s absolute willingness to keep the still frail peace between Geonosis and the Republic.

 

His skill on the other hand… Anakin Skywalker had many virtues, a fierce determination, a quick wit, and a good heart. But his diplomatic skill was nowhere near that of Qui-Gon himself.

 

Or General Kenobi.

 

The thought had come unbidden and left him reeling inwardly. He was glad for his shielding, for Anakin wouldn’t have been able to ignore Qui-Gon’s sudden agitation. Missing the company of someone who’d been gone from his side for so many years was both a surprise and quite bewildering to him.

 

 “You will depart today” Master Windu ordered, disrupting Qui-Gon’s ruminations. For once, Qui-Gon was grateful for the distraction, hiding his inner turmoil beneath a low bow.

 

They left the Council Chamber together, and Anakin motioned for him to follow him towards their quarters to pack up for their trip.

 

After walking side by side in silence for a little while, Anakin turned to him.

 

“I still think it would be wise to include Obi-Wan in this, Master,” he started, his forehead creased into a sea of tiny confused wrinkles.

 

“He was there as the war broke out, and he knows the Geonosian, well, hospitability, better than many other Jedi. If I have reason to be part of this mission, then so does he.”

 

Qui-Gon smiled at him wearily, doing his best to keep his earlier thoughts to himself.

 

“I think the Council is very sensible for not sending for the General at the moment. He’s doing more than his fair share of work in this war.

 

“Besides,” he added, “I am glad they chose to pair us off once again, Anakin. I did miss working with you by my side, terribly.”

 

Anakin shrugged his shoulders at that. “I did not play an insignificant part in the Geonosian defeat, as you might recall,” he said pointedly and lifted his chin at his Master, who fought to suppress a snort.

 

“And if I’m really honest, I’m afraid that might not work in our favor.”

 

Qui-Gon looked at him quizzically as they made their way towards the Temple apartments, surprised at having his own notions reflected back to him like that, prior amusement forgotten.

  
“Anakin, I do think the Council is well aware of the risk they’re taking, and they’ve weighed the potential benefits against its dangers. They do have confidence in you, young one.”

 

It was one thing to worry about Anakin’s diplomatic struggles, but he didn’t want his old Padawan to obstruct his own progress with self-doubt. It was something Qui-Gon had fought against for all of Anakin’s apprenticeship and, in times like these, it was in constant jeopardy of resurfacing.

 

Anakin only shrugged again and they finished their walk in companionable silence.

 

“Well, anyway, I _do_ need to get my feet onto a spaceship soon or I’ll just straight up die from boredom,” Anakin quipped at last, eyebrow raised, once they’d reached Qui-Gon’s quarters.

 

Qui-Gon had to laugh at that, his earlier concern almost dispelled.

 

Clearly, Anakin’s irritation at being out of demand for so long more than equaled Qui-Gon’s own. Qui-Gon could almost feel the itch through their bond and, to be quite honest, it made his own restlessness even worse.

 

“Well, Anakin,” he said, “Let’s make this another tedious lesson in higher diplomacy, from a Master to his old Padawan if nothing else.”

 

He had to chuckle again at the face Anakin made, and put his hand on his old apprentice’s shoulder.

 

“Not to worry, young one. I have a feeling this won’t be too boring after all.”

 

Anakin smiled, squeezing Qui-Gon’s shoulder in return. “So do I, Master. It’s _us_ , after all.”

 

They parted ways when Anakin made for his own quarters, shooting him a last smile from over his shoulder like he did when he was just a wee Padawan.

 

Qui-Gon beamed back but felt the smile drip from his mouth like melting ice as he watched Anakin vanish behind the door to his apartment, dread pooling in his stomach like acid.

 

Glad as he was that Geonosis had declared peace with the Republic, he would have been more than happy to never set foot on the rotten planet again, let alone with Anakin by his side.

 

The place held so many painful memories for him; not just for him as a Master, but for the Padawan he himself had once been.

 

If it was bad for _him_ , the prospect to visit Geonosis must feel exceedingly weird for Anakin, he pondered. He hid it well, maybe even mistook it for his old nerves showing, but he must be feeling it deep in his core, cold like sheer metal.

 

The way Qui-Gon Jinn did.

 

He closed his apartment door behind him as his thoughts wandered back to this, the First Battle of Geonosis, as it was publicly called now. No more than two years ago, and the war had kept the wound open, still oozing blood and purulence.

 

From Qui-Gon’s own point of view, though, back when he hadn’t been wary about the intricacies of the underlying mission, it all had started pretty inconspicuously.

 

The reputable Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi had been tasked with finding whoever’d been targeting Senator Padmé Naberrie Amidala upon her arrival on Coruscant, while Anakin – still Qui-Gon’s senior Padawan by then – had been assigned as Padmé’s personal security guard.

 

Obi-Wan, as Qui-Gon had been later updated by Mace Windu, had been successful to trace the assassin and the subsequent chase had led them both upon the hostile sands of Geonosis.

 

Qui-Gon shivered at the memory of watching the ambush on Obi-Wan happen, when Mace later showed him the holo recording.

 

Obi-Wan, rugged and exhausted by what had transpired during the chase, had dutifully reported back to the Council when he was attacked, the holocamera attached to his comlink revealing a mass of droids closing in on the Knight before it got trampled by a pair of metallic droid legs.

 

The sound of crunching metal over the hissing of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber was the last audible thing before the transmission ended abruptly.

 

Qui-Gon stopped short mid-packing, shaking his head clear of the memory, before focusing his mind back to counting his supplies. Soon, though, his thoughts were entrenched yet again in the Geonosian disaster.

 

Anakin and Padmé, the gods forgive their boldness, were the first to catch Obi-Wan’s last message as he had asked them to transmit it to Coruscant.

 

When the Jedi Council didn’t react fast enough, they decided to attempt Obi-Wan’s rescue by themselves.

 

But by the time they’d touched down on Geonosis, Obi-Wan was long out of sight.

 

By then, another ominous cloud had darkened above the Knight.

 

Qui-Gon felt a sharp prickle, realizing he’d bitten his tongue at the thought of his old Master, Yan Dooku, Obi-Wan struggling in his grasp. A shroud of darkness had encompassed Dooku, even then, even before he’d chosen to give himself over to the Dark Side completely.

 

What had happened to Obi-Wan then, what he’d had to endure at the hands of his Grandmaster and those Geonosian allies-

 

Qui-Gon shied away from his own assumptions. He knew Obi-Wan had never spoken a word about what had happened, not to the Council, not even to Master Yoda himself. Mace had told him as much.

 

Finally, Qui-Gon set his satchel aside, planting a kettle on the stove. He still had time before their flight, and there was a dull hum in his forehead, right behind his eyes, that needed tending to.

 

He leaned back on the counter, his legs stretched out before him, and worked his knuckles over his neck and eye sockets in slow, careful circles.

 

Whatever had transpired in Dooku’s hideout, Anakin and senator Amidala’s plan to get to Obi-Wan had gone awry as well. They were captured, and nearly died in a public show conceived by Geonosian cruelty and callousness.

 

It had taken a large portion of Jedi and the help of the very first battalion of those infamous clone troopers to diffuse the debacle that would later be called the pivot point of the conflict between the Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems.

 

The First Battle of Geonosis.

 

Qui-Gon’s heart ached at the thought of how the Jedi’s partaking in the Battle had firmly cemented their involvement in the history of the Clone Wars.

 

It was the Jedi, who first used foreign soldiers in a planetary skirmish, and that in turn was the last straw the Separatists needed to finally act on their threat of a schism that encompassed the entire Galaxy.

 

Qui-Gon took a first tentative sip of his red blend, strong and a little bitter, as he recalled the eerie scene he witnessed after arriving on Geonosis’ sandy shore.

 

He hadn’t been part of the initial mission to retrieve the two Jedi and the Senator, but he’d volunteered to join from his vantage point in another system, where he’d been stationed to mediate a minor conflict. Little had he known the scope of what had happened there, hadn’t expected the vast destruction, the lives lost in battle.

 

The arena a canvas of red.

 

Qui-Gon blew into his cup, almost dividing the now shallow contents. His headache had subsided into the occasional pang, a sure sign that it was here to stay after all.

 

He remembered arriving on the scene only to see Dooku’s ship depart from what must have been a hidden entrance to his lair.

 

Deciding against following Dooku, he steered his small star cruiser upwards to inspect the large complex of caves that made up most of Dooku’s hideout. There, he had stumbled upon Obi-Wan tending to Anakin, who lay motionless on the ground.

 

His right arm in shreds, no longer part of his body.

 

Bile rose in Qui-Gon’s throat and he hurried to wash it back down with the remains of his tea.

 

What had come after wasn’t one of his proudest moments.

 

He had practically shoved his old Padawan aside, noticing too late that Obi-Wan himself had been injured as well. He almost fell to the ground, clutching his thigh with a sharp gasp.

 

Qui-Gon had finished dressing Anakin’s arm in a pressure bandage, ignoring the Knight’s labored breathing, ignoring Padmé’s scream when she arrived alongside Master Yoda. Ignoring Yoda’s claw on his arm as he picked up Anakin and carried him into his spacecraft.

 

Their journey home had been a rather fraught one, especially after Anakin had become coherent enough to berate Obi-Wan about not stopping to help Senator Amidala, who had, as Qui-Gon learned, been hurled out of their freighter by accident in the middle of the Geonosian desert.

 

Side-eyeing Qui-Gon from where he sat at the ship’s controls, Obi-Wan had cited orders and Padmé’s ensured safety, then fallen mute when Anakin made to launch another adrenaline-powered tirade.

 

Anakin wouldn’t be swayed from laying into Obi-Wan until his severe wound and Master Yoda’s gentle coaxing made him agree to a Force-enhanced sleep.

 

The rest of the way had been spent in uncomfortable silence.

 

Qui-Gon poured himself another cup, settling in for his last hour in his Temple quarters, eyeing the sun through his partly drawn shades, just dipping after its zenith.

 

He cleaned out his kettle, setting it back into the drawer while letting the second brew in his cup cool a bit, grieving a little over having spent his last days in the Temple so unappreciative.

 

He’d had enough time to think, to take a breath, to meditate. His aborted trip to the gardens was looming above him, souring his mood. Leaving him prone against his disdain over the Geonosian mission.

 

But then again, if the thought of Geonosis left an unpalatable taste in Qui-Gon’s mouth, General Kenobi must simply loathe the planet.

 

Qui-Gon remembered reading the battle reports in utter horror.

 

Not too long after their first battle on Geonosian soil, General Kenobi, newly appointed Knight Anakin Skywalker, as well as Anakin’s own young Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, had been deployed to that planet once again to break the Geonosian resistance.

 

Of four troop transports, only Kenobi’s had been able to land at their meeting point, but as the report read, his ship had been shot down, the crash leaving only Kenobi and a two other clone troopers alive, if barely.

 

Heavily wounded, he was reduced to plan the rest of the Republic army’s attack from behind the front lines, while Anakin Skywalker emerged the Republic’s hero, being the one who destroyed the cities shield generator.

 

It was a couple of weeks after the fact, that Qui-Gon had spotted General Kenobi being hauled back into battle, looking a bit disheveled even from a distance.

 

It was later still that he heard the General had spent the larger part of a fortnight following the battle sealed in a bacta tank.

 

Honestly, it had made Qui-Gon doubt the General’s sanity, and that of the Council as a whole. But if his sentiments had been shared, nobody had made much of a mention about it.

 

The Republic had managed to sell their triumph as a relief and clearance for the Geonosian populace.

 

Still, the long and tenacious negotiations with the Geonosian leaders had taken up until now to get them to agree on the Republic’s terms of a shared peace.

 

Qui-Gon rinsed and stored his cup and, hoisting his bag over his shoulder, glanced back into his room dispassionately. It was squeaky clean, thanks to the maintenance droids employed by the Temple.

 

But as it was, it seemed uninhabited, and almost too sterile. His duties had kept him busy, like tha war had most of the Temple’s inhabitants. In fact, the Republic’s festivities and his subsequent stay in the Temple had been the longest timespan he’d slept in his own bed since… well, it was safe to say that even before the war he’d hardly spent much time in his own room at all.

 

Qui-Gon averted his eyes and, once again, turned his back at the place he called home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never know what to say in the notes ... I hope you like the new chapter!


	4. Ignite, Ignite, Ignite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin isn't a diplomat. And some resentments are too deep to be ignored.

Anakin stretched his long legs onto the seat opposite him and huffed, slightly indignantly, and instantly chiding himself for it.

 

He had hoped to be allowed to fly their ship himself only to find a clone trooper, Mint, in the pilot’s seat. His old Master raised an eyebrow but did not acknowledge Anakin’s discomfort any further, instead engrossing himself in the list of instructions they had been given by the Council.

 

Anakin opted out of that particular pastime and started absentmindedly fidgeting around with a mouse droid he’d smuggled on board.

 

They’d both chosen to stay in the cockpit for a little while, and Anakin made sure to observe each of the pilot’s movements, making himself imagine to fly their spacecraft by himself after all.

 

 Finally, the silence had stretched out for too long for Anakin to hold it in.

 

“You know, I could be fighting the Separatists with Ahsoka right now instead of being stuck on this glorified ferry.”

 

The ship stuttered into hyperspace and he moaned with pity. “Poor thing.”

 

Mint, the Clone pilot, only laughed at him. “With due respect, General, but you try and fly this one out, we’ll end up scattered across the desert once we get there.”

 

Anakin noticed the look on Qui-Gon’s face and snickered. Mint was a good man, and a seasoned pilot – no reason for Anakin to grudge.

 

And he was kind of right about Anakin’s habit to go through spaceships like underwear.

 

After another glance at the clone, Qui-Gon apparently decided to not swallow the bait, but instead made a point of listing the items they were advised not to carry into the Geonosian palace in a mock half-whisper.

 

Anakin himself made a point of not listening to his old Master at all. He knew all this, mostly from his previous missions and despite his alleged carelessness in negotiation preparations he actually _did_ read his instructions beforehand. It had been a lesson sorely learned, but a lesson learned all the same.

 

He had dismantled and reassembled his mouse droid fourteen times when Qui-Gon finally switched off his data pad. He folded his legs and smiled pityingly at Anakin’s droid.

 

“We could always play a game of Dejarik or two to pass the time, you know, Anakin.”

 

Anakin laughed at him. “Or you could smash me to pieces without the foreplay, Master. You know I suck at the game.”

 

Qui-Gon frowned a little at Anakin’s poor choice of language, but Anakin delighted in their little byplay.

 

He knew it was not taken the wrong way. Qui-Gon might be a bit old-fashioned, but Anakin had heard him curse like a rabid pirate on various occasions and had actually learned some of his best expletives from his old Master. In fact, Anakin suspected that hearing Anakin cuss on the battlefield would actually make some hidden part of Qui-Gon really proud.

 

Anakin’s aptitude with the Dejarik board on the other hand… Well, Qui-Gon never managed to inspire Anakin’s ambitions with the game. Too many different strategies leading to so many different possible results.

 

Anakin preferred a more direct approach to problems than Dejarik had to offer.

 

When another look at the control panels didn’t spark enough interest in him anymore, Anakin yawned and got up from his seat.

 

“Well, anyway, I think I might just sleep a little while until we enter the Arkanis Sector, Master” he explained.

“Maybe you should get some rest as well.”

 

Qui-Gon nodded at this but didn’t make to follow Anakin’s example.

 

“I will think about this, Anakin. Go ahead and rest well, my friend.”

 

Anakin made his way to their cot and sighed at how small and cramped it was.

 

If the war had taught Anakin one thing and one thing only, it probably was how to sleep under the most adverse circumstances. But having to do it on a peace mission did irk him, if only a little bit.

 

His bunk bed was at least ten inches too short and his legs dangled dangerously over the edge before he decided to just screw manners and dragged his saggy mattress down to the floor.

 

When Qui-Gon did not make an appearance in their tiny quarters, Anakin sneaked off his Master’s mattress and bedspread, too, and made himself as comfortable as possible.

 

Still, when the jump out of hyperspace woke him up hours later, his limbs were numb and his neck protested angrily. He sat up as Qui-Gon entered their cabin to inform him of their imminent arrival, grimacing at the bolts of pain travelling up and down his spine.

 

“Being in pain even before entering the atmosphere must be a good omen, right?” he joked at Qui-Gon’s skeptically raised eyebrows and stretched his limbs just to make a point, grinning, before realizing that Qui-Gon had not really slept at all.

 

The lines around his mouth were taut and his face was an odd pale color. The change was subtle enough not to be noticed by anyone but a close friend.

 

To Anakin however, Qui-Gon looked like death warmed over.

 

“You did not rest well, Master,” he began, but Qui-Gon cut him short with a dismissive wave of his arm.

  
“I was agitated, young friend, and not even _The Collected History Of The Planet Of Geonosis And Its Inhabitants_ could lull me to sleep. Make of that what you may, Anakin.”

 

Anakin wanted to inquire further but his old Master’s face was quite forbidding of the subject. Also, the title of the book was horrifying enough for Anakin not to resort to that as a starting point.

 

Instead, after sneaking a look through their hologram transmitter, Anakin huffed.   


“I was not exactly looking forward to disembark on a planet literally made of sand again,” he smiled. It was a lame joke but it did the trick.

 

Qui-Gon huffed out a husk laugh.

 

“Oh Anakin, will you ever get over this little pet phobia of yours?”  


Anakin opened his eyes comically wide. “Never!” he cried, emphatically.

 

 

A Geonosian welcome committee awaited them at their landing point far outside the city. The whole place was lodged firmly in a deep, rocky valley. Everything was literally covered in Anakin’s least favorite kind of substance. As they left their ship, a sharp wind pebbled them with sand and little rocks.

 

Next to him, Qui-Gon shielded his eyes, squinting at their equally mirthless escort who did their best to cover themselves in spreads and shawls.

 

Anakin slipped deeper into his hood as to avoid the onslaught of sand a little and followed the Geonosian guards right at Qui-Gon’s heel.

 

The sight before him reminded him of his last visit to Geonosis – an unpleasant memory that made him apprehensive.

 

The Geonosians seemed eager to make a point of walking them way into the valley before them, the speeders waiting closer to the city – arguably to spare their varnish from the beginning sand storm.

 

More probably, though, to remind their guests of their gratuitous status.

 

As they walked, Anakin nudged Qui-Gon gently and pointed to a vast area to their right.

 

“See the dents in the ground over there?” he whispered as to not alert their escort, “that must be where Obi-Wan crashed down back when we were attacking the city. Point Rain.”

 

Qui-Gon’s face remained impassive but he looked over to where Anakin pointed regardless.

 

“Master Mundi and I got there pretty much at the last second. Had Admiral Yularen not sent a squadron here in time, Obi-Wan, Commander Cody, and their men would most likely have been overrun.”  


“Commander Cody, that’s Obi-Wan’s clone shadow, isn’t he?” Qui-Gon asked, a strange a propos from what Anakin had just told him.

 

Qui-Gon averted his eyes to shield them from the wind. “I think I saw him on Coruscant not too long ago, at the Chancellor’s Ball.”

 

Anakin felt his forehead pucker a little at Qui-Gon’s choice of words.

 

“He’s the 212th second in command, Master. A very good soldier.”  


Qui-Gon did not respond to that. Instead, he turned around to speak to one of their welcome committee, a pretty bleak looking Geonosian guard.

 

Anakin would have loved to tell his old Master more about their mission here, but he let it slide.

 

Geonosis was, to Qui-Gon, a touchy subject, and Anakin seconded the sentiment. He suspected Qui-Gon to feel guilty about what had happened to him at their first encounter with Geonosian hospitability.

 

Much as Anakin didn’t appreciate losing a limb, he’d made his own peace with that a while ago. He stifled a sigh and let his eyes roam a little, as much as the sandstorm let him, anyway.

 

Back then, at Point Rain, the winds had been more kind to them. Or maybe, they were crueler than on this day, since they granted him and Ahsoka an unimpeded view on the onslaught on Obi-Wan’s unit.

 

Obi-Wan had been standing in the middle of their little cover when the Seps were closing in, lightsaber raised, his face just as impassive as Qui-Gon’s right now, regarding the enemy lines with a hard stare. Only the sweat on his brows and a slight shake to his breath had told Anakin of his true condition once they caught up with the remaining troopers.

 

Obi-Wan had refused to return to Coruscant and had held out until the city was defeated, eager back then as he was now to end the war rather sooner than later. The proud look on Obi-Wan’s face when Anakin had returned with news of their victory was one of Anakin’s favorite memories of his Padawan brother.

 

Qui-Gon, on the other hand, had been quite appalled when Anakin had first told him his account of their feat.

 

Anakin couldn’t help but shrug his shoulder a little at his reaction. Qui-Gon almost never partook in war activities himself.

 

Instead he had made it his mission to tour the galaxy and help members of the Senate negotiate interplanetary bonds and to keep unaligned planets from joining the Separatists. It was an honorable task, and Anakin was proud of his Master’s accomplishments. But to him, they seemed very, very boring, too.

 

Not that he would tell Qui-Gon this, though.

 

Anakin got a firsthand demonstration of the tediousness of peace missions when they finally arrived in the city.

 

He and Qui-Gon had been seated at both sides of the Geonosian officials. To his surprise, Senator Bail Organa, a close friend to both Padmé and Obi-Wan, and another Senator he did not recognize were present at the Signing as well.

 

There were talks and talks, and, after that, some more talks.

 

To relieve the boredom a bit, the Geonosians had thrown in some speeches as well.

 

Anakin had to gather all his strength not to get up and run away screaming. The constant Geonosian-Basic-dubbing made his ears throb and he squeezed his thumb in his lap in an attempt at a calm composure.

 

He had no idea how Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan could remain so serene at events like these.

 

Somehow, somewhere, Qui-Gon must have failed to bestow that special gift upon his latest apprentice.

 

Finally, the talks and discussions and speeches came to an end and the peace treaty was signed by the Geonosian officials, by Senator Organa, and by Qui-Gon Jinn as the official Jedi delegate.

 

It was late afternoon bordering on early evening when the Signing party was bid to join the Geonosians for a festive dinner. They were accompanied to a large chamber with windows on both sides.

 

The sunlight was fading quickly and was gradually replaced by candles and hololights. The velvety red lights of the fire clashed oddly with the oily pyromorphite of the hololights and created a ghastly hue that filled the chamber.

 

Dinner was a sad affair as their Geonosian hosts did not do anything much to entertain their guests.

 

An uncomfortable silence plagued the table, interrupted only by two or three little groups engaged in whispered conversations.

 

Qui-Gon was talking quietly to Senator Organa and his colleague, now and again glancing at the rest of the dinner table with an unreadable expression.

 

Anakin, who had been seated far off his comrades, raked listlessly in this plate, making the food look even more inedible than it had in the first place.

 

Whenever he glanced up he caught at least one or two Geonosians regard him with a look of barely hidden contempt. His hand started to prickle again and he contemplated just getting up and finding an excuse to leave as the Geonosian official, now known to Anakin as Minister Kryshin, suddenly stood up from his seat and cleared his throat.

 

“My fellow Geonosians, dear guests from Coruscant and beyond. I am deeply honored to be the one chosen by fate to see over the end of war between Geonosia and the Galactic Republic. We have, on each side, seen and done things we cannot be proud of.

 

But this day, and the Signing of the peace treaty, shall go down in history as a joyful event, as the beginning of friendship, of cooperation, as well as bilateral trade.”

 

Anakin mashed another piece of unrecognizable vegetable on his plate before laying down his fork under Qui-Gon’s disapproving glance. Not knowing where to put his hands he folded them in his lap and looked up at the Minister in an attempt at solemn interest.

 

“I am grateful for the opportunity to personally meet representatives of the Republic, as well as of the Jedi,” with that, Kryshin bowed at the Senators and Qui-Gon, “who have given me much reassurance of the issues we Geonosians had feared before signing the treaty.

 

“However-“ and with that, he fixed Anakin in a sudden, indignant stare, “we find it most bewildering to find on our table a known perpetrator of warmongering – the Jedi infamously responsible for destroying the shields to protect our city from attacks from both the Separatist and the Republic war battalions.”

 

A murmur went through the ranks on the table as some guests craned their necks to get a better look at the target of Minister Kryshin’s words.

 

Anakin hadn’t even realized he was getting up from his seat, his blood rushing in his head, the sound of water boiling, air bubbling to the surface.

 

But he heard his chair clutter to the floor behind him as he stood, his hands balled into fists and his teeth bared at their Geonosian hosts. He knew he was acting undignified, but this- this-

 

This was an outrage! What he’d done back then, what they’d all done back then was for the benefit of the Geonosians, to free them from the hands of the Confederacy who’d been using them as nothing more than work slaves! Making their planet a mining field, and a weaponry plant.

 

Anakin had more reason to take a stand on their behalf than they even realized, more than they could know.

 

The Geonosians’ ungratefulness was scalding. Anakin’s men hadn’t fought and died only for the Minister to dishonor their efforts.

 

The people around had fallen silent but Anakin didn’t notice. He only paid attention to the blood rush in his ears.

 

This was wrong, he knew it, he should be reigning his temper in, but he wouldn’t tolerate Kryshin to disrespect him, his office, or his troops.

 

Once again he flashed back on the look of Obi-Wan’s face surrounded by the remaining men of his battalion, all of them exhausted or badly wounded, but all of them willing to take one final stand before being overrun by the Separatist’s droids.

 

Anakin felt his fists tighten, his nails digging into his palm.

 

Kryshin looked at him with something akin to reciprocated detestation. They faced each other, no one willing to give in, no one willing to be the first to look away.

 

The air felt like it could be sliced with a butcher’s knife.

 

After a few seconds of openly glaring at the Minister, Anakin felt a hand ease gently on top of his shoulder and a calming sensation filled him, helping him to finally expel his anger into the Force.

 

“I think we might have outstayed our welcome,” Qui-Gon whispered into his ear before bowing gently to their hosts.

 

“We do not wish to part enemies,” Qui-Gon declared out loud, “and my friend did not mean to harm the purpose of our visit. We apologize.”  


Anakin did his darndest not to scowl, and he nodded and bowed his head too, as apologetically as he managed. The blood rush in his ears reared its ugly head once more, drowning out whatever soothing words Qui-Gon engaged to make up for his behavior.

 

But at least he managed to keep the expression on his face neutral, even rueful.

 

At last, the Geonosian official returned their bows, reluctantly, but the livid look in his eyes did not falter as he summoned their guards from earlier in the day and sent the Jedi on their merry way.

 

As they departed, Anakin shot Bail Organa a quick look. The prominently raised eyebrow Bail offered made him cringe inwardly. So much for a lesson in diplomacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. I wanted to get home from work and get right to editing this chapter so bad. But somehow i lost my mojo beforehand, or i just wasn't as enthusiastic about it anymore? Well, i sure am looking forward to showing you the next chapter though. So stay tuned ;) <3


	5. Go For Broke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cody would follow his General everywhere. Through the thick of it all, through all the hard decisions. Through everything. And yet, he finds himself in a place he'd never thought he'd see again.

They were being led around by their collective noses.

 

Cody knew this. He felt it deep inside his battle-worn joints. The men knew it, as did everyone around either on ship duty or tinkering around in the multiple hangars.

 

Oh, they knew. Cody was sure no one was in their bunks, even those not on immediate duty. The anticipation was too high to think of rest, much less sleep.

 

He knew the General was aware of it as well, though he kept his usual composure, face showing no emotion, revealing nothing.

 

He was standing there in his usual place, his legs slightly apart, stroking his beard while silently contemplating the radar displays in front of them. A picture of serenity and one that quietly assured everyone that this situation was normal, everyday. Even if it wasn’t.

 

He didn’t even flinch when the Forbearance shook for the umpteenth time, their shielding still strong enough to contain the cannon blaster aimed at them.

 

Neither did Cody. This was a too common occurrence lately. Not even the pilots bothered to make verbal note of what part of the shields had been hit – it was plainly visible on the screens anyway, and the pilots kept their communicators on stand-by, silently waiting for command.

 

Cody took a look at the huge mass on the screen, looming in the distance, and imagined seeing it from the pilots’ seat, a large black eyeless brow above a huge mirthless grin, surrounded by pale starlight, staring down at the Forbearance with the menace only a huge Separatist destroyer could muster.

 

In size, the destroyer was both wider and, judging from what he could about its girth, longer than the Forbearance, and Cody imagined it was more than a match for their ship.

 

He felt his toes wanting to curl in his boots, thinking of how both ships drew ever nearer to each other, minute by dragging minute.

 

Right now, however, the Separatists were only probing them, testing their patience like a sting-adorned insect would its prey. Prick after carefully measured prick.

 

Up until now, General Kenobi had abstained from giving command to return fire.

 

Cody had agreed to this tactic, letting the Separatists come ever closer, luring it well into their own range. Not wasting their stocks trading mock attacks.

 

Not here in these remote skies, anyway, where supply ships were rare and far in between.

 

Eyeing the General from the side now, though, and seeing his jaw work ever so slightly, Cody felt the scar on the side of his face prickle. A sure sign that the General would not be inclined to hold out much longer.

 

The holoprojector let out an urgent beep, startling Cody out of his brooding as both Commander and General looked up.

 

A holo of Admiral Yularen’s face was projected before them, his pale visage as ever devoid of emotion.

 

“Admiral,” the General said. More a question than a formal greeting.

 

Cody recognized it as a subtle, unobtrusive sign of stress. Politeness discarded in favor of efficiency. Things seemed to be direr than even Cody had anticipated when the General resorted to business first.

 

“General Kenobi. We have found out the identity of the attacker.”

 

“Yes, Admiral?” More of the same stress signal, something the Admiral seemed entirely oblivious of.

 

Cody wanted to shuffle in place and willed his feet to stand still.

 

“General, the battleship you’re facing is General Grievous’ newly acquired ship, the Soulless. Do you copy?”

 

Cody saw the resigned steel in the General’s eyes harden even as he masked it as interest. The General nodded at Yularen.

 

“I copy, yes. I’ve thought as much. Thank you, Admiral. I shall need you on stand-by. Prepare for hyperspace. Ready your men. This little stand-off he’s staging will not hold much longer.”

  
“Copy that, General.”

 

With that, the holo went out, and General Kenobi turned to Cody. The steel in his eyes had by now turned them from a vivid green to a shallow grey. Cody was hard pressed not to swallow at the sight of it.

 

“Tell our troopers to prepare for battle.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Cody stepped aside, eyes already on his com, leaving some space for the General to brood over the news as he called his men into action.

 

Everywhere on the ship his brothers dropped whatever they were doing and ran towards their assigned posts. Cody could almost feel the floor vibrate with their heavy boots clacking on durasteel. He felt the eagerness build within their hearts as well as within his own.

 

This was his battle song, the sound of his brother’s heart beating, feet marching, blasters being strapped to shoulders, heavy armors chiming in unison. It was the sound of their life, the sound of their purpose.

 

Leave the talk of peace to those Jedi back in the Temple, to the politicians. This was the dirt work. This was war.

 

As if General Kenobi could hear his thoughts, he turned around, facing Cody with a curious expression.

 

Cody felt his spine stiffen under this scrutiny.

 

He knew his General could hear the trooper’s feet and their blasters and the rhythm of their heartbeat, just as Cody did.

 

They had fought most of this war at each other’s side, had shared victories and wounds alike. But there was this foreign gleam in the General’s eyes now, something behind the battle readiness, even behind the weariness Kenobi shared with his men, after months and months of repeated frontline action.

  
Cody did not dare give a name to what he saw.

 

A sudden scream of the radar interrupted his thoughts with terrible efficacy.

 

Cody and General Kenobi whisked around, treated to the sight of first one, then two, four, eight, twelve, twenty, thirty-two bright red dots appearing all around their ship, as if out of nowhere.

 

Then, the real racket began.

 

In a split second, the Forbearance was under attack from all sides, its defector shields barely holding off the vicious attacks of what were now more than fifty starfighters circling their battleship. The ships were small but effective, complete with an alarming amount of firepower.

 

Kenobi was alert instantly, shouting orders to the ship’s pilots and calling Admiral Yularen’s fleet into action.

 

“Sir, Admiral Yularen’s ship might still need time to calculate their jump. He won’t be able to help us fight them off just yet!” Cody shouted over the alarm.

 

“I’m aware of that, Cody. I just want to make sure they fucking kick Grievous in the shit as soon as they get here.”

 

Cody couldn’t help the shark-like smile forming underneath his helmet.

 

General Kenobi had, in the time they spent together, well and truly taken on some of the more colorful trooper vocabulary.

 

His smile died on his lips an instant later as a harsh laughter sounded through their communicators, making him want to rip his helmet right off his head.

 

The holoprojector beeped again, as General Grievous’ ugly masked face appeared in front of them, his features distorted by the ship’s computer’s efforts trying to fight off the foreign intruder.

 

“General Kenobi,” Grievous huffed out before being cut off by a fit of coughing.

 

Kenobi did not acknowledge Grievous’ greeting but folded his arms in front of him, waiting for Grievous to recover from his fit. Coughing merged into the kind of laughter that made the hair on Cody’s arms try to stand on end.

 

“That was some nice surprise now, was it not, General?” Grievous purred, making Cody imagine the alien’s ugly smug smile behind his mask.

 

Kenobi raised an eyebrow at him, voice dangerously calm.

 

“Invisibility technology, I presume.”

 

Cody was hard pressed to shoot him an incredulous look. That could not be possible, could it?

 

Grievous only laughed again, doing his darndest not to be interrupted by another coughing spasm. All the while, the fire around them grew louder, closer, more urgent.

 

“You resorted to being a common thieve then, _General_ Grievous,” Kenobi concluded when Grievous refrained from replying to his assumption.

 

This struck home, apparently, as Grievous spat out at Kenobi.

 

“You’d better keep your own info channels under careful control, Kenobi. They’re clearly not as well-guarded as you thought them to be.”

 

More coughing followed, giving Cody enough time to exchange a look with the General, motioning a silent request.

 

“It appears so,” Kenobi replied quietly, nodding his assent almost unnoticeably.

 

Cody pressed a few buttons on his communicator, sending a silent alarm to his men. One by one, green dots joined the red ones on their radar, chasing them off their primary target.

 

It was enough of a distraction to Grievous that Cody could spare a hard glance at the radar screens, watching the green dots managing to hold the enemy fighters at bay. At first.

 

Some of the red dots vanished, only to be replaced by more appearing as if out of thin air.

 

Their counter attack was, apparently, a single drop in a bucket. Without Yularen, they were clearly outnumbered. Cody knew it, General Kenobi knew it

 

And Grievous, it appeared, knew it, too.

 

His laughter cut through the air as the first blasts cracked the Forbearance’s shields, chipping at their ship’s outer shell. The Forbearance shook violently.

 

Their communications system must have taken a hit, Cody thought. The holoprojection dimmed and went out, leaving only cracked traces of Grievous’ wheezing voice hanging in the air.

 

“Get this under control,” General Kenobi bellowed towards the ship’s technicians scrambling up to fix whatever needed to be fixed.

 

“Sir, the Soulless is preparing for hyperspeed,” Cody heard one of their pilots call through Kenobi’s comlink.

 

“Track her, immediately,” Kenobi ordered. “Do not let her out of our sights.”

 

Kenobi turned around, regarding the radar with a hesitant expression. He lifted his communicator to his lips, his eyes not leaving the radar displays where one green dot right after the other was eradicated, an explosion of pixels on the screen, then nothing.

 

Cody watched him from his position, the buzzing in his head intensifying with each vanishing dot, another brother’s life done for. His blood roared in his ears, his hands clamping in silent want of steering one of their attack ships himself.

 

“Squadron leaders Dennie, Shrimp, Whiz, Omega, clear the ship’s bow immediately,” Kenobi bellowed, finally.

 

Cody looked up at the General, confusion mixing with expectation. The kind of manoeuver this was starting to sound like-

 

“Lead as many enemy fighters to our nose as you can, then get the fuck out of there,” Kenobi barked out. “Then, join Admiral Yularen’s fleet as soon as they arrive here.”

 

“Copy that”, four voices croaked in unison.

 

Cody felt a copper taste on his tongue and did his best to imagine them, against his instincts to keep the thought away, his brothers leading attack after attack against the enemy ships.

 

His hands itched for a trigger, to do something, something else than standing on the observation deck. He knew his General wasn’t keen on this position either. He’d always felt it to be his duty to fight alongside his men, directly at the front line, shielding his troopers from blaster fire.

 

But this, this was something different. The Forbearance’s shields were failing, one by one, and the ground beneath their feet never stopped quaking. They had to get out of the line of fire, and fast.

 

One of the pilots, Wade, made his report via comlink when visual communication failed them once again. “Sir, we tracked the ship’s destination.”

 

Cody watched Kenobi nod. “Good. Focus our deflector shields at our bow, fire them up as much as you can. When the Soulless jumps into hyperspace, follow her.”

 

“Sir.”

 

The com grew silent and Kenobi turned around, facing Cody again. 

 

“About to mow the lawn a bit, are we, General?” Cody couldn’t help noting once they locked eyes.

 

Kenobi managed a tight smile as another hit sent the Forbearance shivering to the side.

 

“We’ll try to be thorough, Commander.”

 

They took off almost without warning, the second the Soulless vanished into hyperspace. Cody hardly managed not to slap his palms over his audio feed, the bang reverberated through the whole ship.

 

Thus, he almost missed Kenobi yelling a last warning to their spaceborne troopers before they took off. Cody almost felt the intense heat build at the ships bow as the Forbearance rattled, jerking violently as it obliterated a great portion of enemy space fighters at light speed.

 

General Kenobi kept his eyes on the radar screen the whole time. Cody, slightly caught off guard by the sudden jump, realized he’d been slammed against the observation deck’s back railing. Looking up, he saw a mass of red lights, menacingly reflected in the General’s eyes, then nothing but blackness as half of Grievous’ fleet was pulverized by the sheer force of speed.

  
“Well, Sir, that should’ve thinned them out a bit,” Cody mumbled, still disorientated by the jump. He tried to straighten his back but was thrown at the opposite railing again as the ship dropped out of hyperspace.

 

“Sir,” Wade’s voice wafted through Kenobi’s transmitter, almost drowned out by an urgent beeping of the radar, “we shall need you on the commando bridge, immediately.”

 

It was a ghastly picture they were met with as they arrived on the bridge, running. Cody almost smacked right into Kenobi who suddenly stood as if glued to the spot.   


“Oh, kriff,” he uttered.

 

Right in front of them, clearly visible through the duraglass screen, the Soulless stared them down once more, surrounded by a fleet of rather small but weirdly shaped looking spaceships. They were approaching, fast.

 

“Hurry, get our shields back up again!” Kenobi yelled, but it was too late. Their risky maneuver had overheated the systems. All the pilots could try to do was try to steer clear of the attack.   


In a second, the strange spaceships were upon them once again, latching themselves unhindered to the surface of the Forbearance, set to prying open its entrances.

 

“Commander. How many souls on board?”

 

Kenobi’s voice was ghastly flat, his eyes fixed upon the screen as more and more enemy spaceships hit the Forbearance and worked at its outer shell.

 

Quickly, Cody ran the numbers. “Sir, we’re enough to give them a good beating.”

 

“But not enough to strike them down.”

 

They shared a look of complete understanding as they heard word of the first couple of entrances being compromised. The Forbearance creaked and spasmed, worse even than before their jump.

 

“Well then, let’s beat them up, shall we?” the General sighed under his breath, resigned, his hand already upon the weapon on his belt.

 

Cody swallowed down his own reply and only nodded when he saw the familiar battle glint in Kenobi’s eyes blotting out the muted grief that had been there a second before.

 

If someone were to ask him what made him prefer his General to the other Jedi he knew, he’d only have to point his finger.

 

His General knew when he was defeated, outnumbered. But it would take him far, far more than defeat to give up on his troopers.

 

That confidence and trust was what made Cody follow immediately behind Kenobi, wherever he went, blaster raised and ready to shoot at whatever got in their way. It was Cody’s trust in turn, even more so than genetic programming and battle training, that made his brothers follow in their footsteps.  

  
They ran through the hallways, their numbers strengthened with every open door, with every new mass of troopers emerging. Shouting orders, the General sent them towards the various points of attack. It wasn’t long before they encountered their first onslaught of battle droids on board of their ship. By then, Kenobi’s retinue counted a couple dozen troopers.

 

“Alright, 212, let’s show them some!” Kenobi ordered, his lightsaber engaged and briskly raised above his head. Cody heard his brothers roar in agreement when they ran towards the battle droids as one body.

 

They clashed together with a ferocity that was almost refreshing to a mass of people held up in space for too long. Soon, Kenobi and Cody fell into their familiar stances, one always shielding the other.

 

As usual Kenobi was in the front, alongside Cody, deflecting blaster bolts and mowing down droid after droid with generous sweeps of his saber. The inrush of battle droids seemed to fade a bit, but was soon renewed and strengthened by a new source from somewhere below them.

 

“They’re already in the cargo hold!” Kenobi bellowed.

  
“Cody, try and contact our men there, see what’s going on!” he added, directing a blaster bolt away from Cody’s arm and into a nearby droid. It cluttered to the ground like useless scrap metal.

 

Cody tapped a few buttons on his transmitter, but to no avail.

 

“There is no contact, General. I can’t reach any of them!”

 

Grunting, Kenobi called upon the Force, shoving a mass of droids into a wall where they were shot down by troopers. His efforts were rewarded by a new wave of battle droids closing the ranks from behind.

 

“How many left down there, Cody?”

 

Cody shook his head desperately as he shot down another couple of droids trying to invade the hallways.

 

“I can’t seem to reach anyone, General. The transmission is blocked, somehow-“

 

An excruciatingly loud bout of laughter erupted from the loudspeakers all around the walkways.

 

Some of the younger troopers dropped their blasters, lifting their hands to their ears in agony.

 

“Kenobi!” the voice shrieked, “it is high time for you to surrender. Your ship has been taken over.”

 

Kenobi did not even bother to reply. Even while fighting he cocked his head to the side, as if listening to some undercurrents in the air.

 

Cody’s heart skipped a beat. Whatever was to come, judging by the look on Kenobi’s face, it wouldn’t be pretty.

 

Grievous’ voice laughed in their ears again. “Your resilience will not help you this time, Kenobi. I will be coming for you, personally, and rip you apart limb by limb.”

 

“He’s not on the ship!” Kenobi shouted when some of the troopers refused to gather their weapons back up.

 

“It’s just a transmission. His droids must have reached the commando bridge!”

 

The Forbearance shook as if it were getting wrung out like an old rag. Cody imagined that, quite soon, they’d see the first tearing marks in the durasteel walls. The automatic alarms shrilled through the hallways, only adding to the bedlam of noise everywhere.

 

A sudden crash made Cody turn around. A wall of battle droids, accompanied by shielded attack droids closed in on their rear. They were trapped.

 

“Air vents!” Kenobi shouted.

 

Cody picked up in an instant and used his blaster to shoot a nice bolt hole in the vents. One by one, the remaining troopers jumped up and vanished into the vents.

 

Until the last pair of feet climbed out of sight General Kenobi and Cody stayed down, all the while deflecting blaster bolts and keeping their enemy at bay.

 

Cody gave Kenobi a reassuring nod before the General hauled himself up and out of sight. With a last farewell spray of bolts Cody himself jumped, hoisting himself up and into the dark, narrow corridors.

  
“Climb towards the rescue capsules!” Kenobi ordered before turning around to search Cody’s eyes in the darkness.

 

“Ready to bid them our regards?”

 

In lieu of an answer, Cody dropped a shell down on the droids who stood there, struggling to see where their enemy had gone.

 

A huge wave of electricity took them out. Neither Cody nor General Kenobi stayed there long enough to see them go down. Hurriedly they scuttled down the vents, where some of the clones had abandoned their helmets to get a better look at the way ahead.

 

“Sir, how do we know the rescue zones are not yet compromised?”

 

“We’ll find out soon enough, Cody” Kenobi panted from ahead.

 

They had almost reached the rescue chambers when an explosion blew up underneath them. The vents gave way under their hands and knees. In an instant, both clones and the Jedi dropped from the ceiling and into the midst of another pack of enemy droids.

 

“Where do you think you’re going, Kenobi?” the sick voice of Grievous was upon them once again.

 

The General looked around him, at dozens upon dozens blaster barrels aimed at him and his clone troopers.

 

“Nowhere far it seems, General Grievous,” he replied, sounding beaten.

 

He disengaged his lightsaber, lifting his arms over his head. One by one the clones dropped their blasters, taking off their helmets and lifting their own hands in defeat.

 

From somewhere deep inside the ship’s bowels, the Forbearance growled and howled, a sickening sound. Kenobi lifted his head, picking up on something.

 

Cody watched him closely, saw his nostrils flare and, taking a whiff himself, a terrible realization hit him just as Kenobi came to a decision.

 

In a swift movement, quicker than Cody’s eyes could register, Kenobi flipped around, clearing the pathway of battle droids with a massive wave of the Force. His other arm came down and Cody felt himself being pushed through the hallway and towards the rescue capsules alongside the other troopers as if struck by an invisible sledgehammer.

 

He hit the wall, seconds later, and wriggled around, trying to waste no time in engaging one of the capsules.

 

“Go, go, go!” he shouted at his comrades, who filed into the capsules in threes and fours and made to exit the ship.

 

_Slow, too damn slow. Go on, come on!!_

 

He looked back to see Kenobi run towards them with his arms outstretched, blaster bolts starting to come up once more now from the previously stunned droids.

 

Cody felt a surge pass him, shoving the already manned capsules farther into space. The Forbearance quivered again and the stench, coming directly from the ship’s power engines, hit Cody’s pharynx, making it harder and harder to breathe.

 

He held onto the walls as to not lose his footing as an explosion deep in the ship’s intestines shook the floor.

 

“General, now!” he shouted, blinded by the smoke filling the air through cracks in the walls.

 

He felt an arm hook around his torso and shove him into the last remaining capsule. A stream of blaster fire hit the capsule’s doors as they went crashing to the floor.

  
Cody picked himself up as he heard Kenobi cough and splutter next to him. He swiftly got into the pilot’s seat and activated the capsule’s engines, steering clear from the Forbearance disintegrating behind them.

 

“Faster, Cody, go on, the ship’s going to-,“ Kenobi started.

 

He did not end his sentence.

 

The ship behind them was blown to pieces, the force of the explosion rattling and shaking their tiny capsule, as the bodies within were smacked around the walls like puppets in a box of toys.

 

Finally, the rattling ebbed off and the capsule floated around meekly. Cody tried to lift his head but dropped it again, his vision blurred, the walls around him floating out of focus. The beautiful sight in front of the screen, flying debris illuminated by burning fuel in the complete and uncaring blackness of space brandished itself to the back of his eyelids before everything went dark.

 

 

Cody found himself lying on the floor, sick to his stomach from the fumes and dust he’d been breathing in. As he sat up and shook himself awake, he noticed an oxygen mask firmly clasped over his mouth and nose.

 

Kenobi was already in the pilot’s seat, his own mask hanging somewhere next to his ear.

 

They were drifting towards a huge, vast planet, already inescapably caught in its gravity field.

 

Kenobi sat there, studying a holomap and pressing various buttons, then trying for the steering rods.

 

Nothing.

 

“Where are we, General?” Cody asked and grimaced. His head, comfortably numb before, was aching as he spoke.

 

Kenobi pushed another set of buttons without looking up before throwing his hands up in defeat and leaning back low in his chair, his head motioning at the planet steadily gaining size in front of them.

 

“This, my friend, is Geonosis.”

 

Cody clasped his mouth shut, dumbfounded. He hadn’t anticipated ending up on Geonosis, ever again.

 

 Kenobi turned around to face him, a thin line of blood dripping from his forehead and onto his chin.

 

“I advise you to buckle up, Commander. That’s going to be a rough landing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually really proud of this chapter. I hope you like it, too.  
> Tell me what you think.


	6. Can't part the Sea, Can't reach the Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected reunion.

“Oh, kriff, that does _not_ look too good.”

 

They were standing next to their freighter, waiting for the pilots to prepare their rather hasty departure. Their resident entourage had not bothered escorting them back to their ship so it was just Qui-Gon, Anakin, Bail Organa, who had at last agreed to see them off, and their respective pilots.

 

Bail had been gracious about their whole situation on their way back, even though he made a point about them being lucky they hadn’t been incarcerated on the spot.

 

Qui-Gon had been self-conscious about being at the receiving end of senatorial disdain – something he hadn’t felt in quite a while – up until Anakin pointed out a disturbance in the skies above them.

 

Qui-Gon accepted the high-resolution telescope from his former Padawan and looked up towards the source of the disruption, barely discernible in the sky. It was clear that whatever ship was floating high above Geonosis was not going to hold another five minutes. He returned the telescope to Anakin, who took another careful look and gasped.

 

“Shit. Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit! Master, that’s the Forbearance! It’s Obi-Wan’s ship!”

 

Qui-Gon felt the blood rush from his face. That couldn’t be.

 

He took the telescope back when Anakin made to stuff it into his overcoat, gaze still upturned, his face stricken and horrified. Qui-Gon held it up to his eyes once more, in shock. The outlines of the ship in distress, partly obscured by dark wafts of smoke, truly looked familiar. Could that be-

 

“What are you talking about, Knight Skywalker?” he heard Bail Organa ask but Anakin had already stormed up the ramp to their freighter. Qui-Gon shot Bail a look and followed him in where Anakin had already trained the ship’s radar on the spacecraft above.

 

“There, do you see this? They’re evacuating!” Anakin shouted as a small mass of tiny dots exited the larger ship’s side where Qui-Gon suspected the rescue chamber would be located.

  
“Do you see any attackers?” Qui-Gon asked, as Anakin made some adjustments to the radar.

 

“No, Master, whoever’s responsible for this seems to have gotten to safety already.”

 

Anakin turned around to their ship’s control panel and swore.

 

“What is it, Anakin?”

 

“This damn excuse of a spaceship can’t reach space until its engines are on full blast. We won’t make it there until-“

 

He was interrupted by a small but blinding light, followed after a little while by a low sound not unlike thunder wafting in through the open door. Thousands of miles above them, unreachable, the Forbearance was blown to pieces.

 

Qui-Gon stared in disbelief, bracing himself for the all too familiar, all-encompassing sense of loss that would mean the final breaking of a bond.

 

Unfathomably, it didn’t come.

 

“Master, look!” Anakin pointed to a small, almost invisible dot on the radar, dangerously close to the ship that had vaporized and vanished from view, swaying precariously in the explosion’s wake.

 

“I think some of them might still have made it out of there in time!”

 

They watched the capsule’s rapid decline, still swirling around like a drunken braggart in the lower levels of Coruscant.

 

“Sir, the detonation wave seems to have pushed them into the Geonosian atmosphere,” one of the pilots said, indicating the object’s fast decline towards the planet’s surface.

 

“Can you calculate where they might touch down?” Qui-Gon shuffled closer, trying to swallow down the sense of dread and hope lodging in his heart, competing for the upper hand.

 

“They won’t be very far from here. The engines are heated up enough to get us there if we stay close to the ground” the pilot replied, already strapping into his seat.

 

“Alright then, go. _Go_!”

 

 

They had probably travelled twenty minutes at the longest when something big cast its shadow upon their freighter. Though they were at full ground speed already, the rescue capsule quickly overtook them. It seemed to be heading towards a deep valley that was stretching out before them.

 

“Whoever’s in that capsule must be having difficulties, sir,” their pilot announced. “If they keep going at that velocity they won’t make it down before they reach these cliffs.”

 

Now Qui-Gon saw what he’d missed earlier. The valley did not open in a gentle slope as he had anticipated. Instead, it was bordered by a huge set of cliffs falling almost 90 degrees, way down into a large dale.

 

“Go faster, we must try and block them somehow so they don’t slip down the cliffs!” Anakin urged but the pilot shook his head.

 

“We won’t stand a chance, the speed of the capsule is too high, sir. We’d be pushed down with it.”

 

“But we can’t just sit there and watch them go down!” Anakin cried.

 

“It’s too late!” Qui-Gon shouted as the capsule hit the ground, once, twice, cracking open the planet’s dry surface. The force of the impact shook the gravel loose, sending shivers of rock that hit their craft’s underside. The noise of metal against stone made Qui-Gon’s teeth ache. 

 

“Look, Master Jinn” Senator Organa pointed at the capsule sliding towards the cliffs. The latch had opened and two shadows could be seen hurtling down, vanishing into the sandy cloud.

 

Suddenly, the capsule got caught on a huge rock, flipped, and was gone.

 

“Master! Where are they? Where are they?” Anakin cried as rubble and debris obscured their screens entirely. Their pilot set the freighter down carefully, not far from where the capsule had vanished. Anakin did not even wait for the ramp to reach ground, he just jumped off the ship and ran towards the cliffs.

 

In a matter of seconds he, too, was gone from sight.

 

“Anakin!”

 

Qui-Gon jumped down as well but was soon shrouded in a mass of sand. He faltered in his steps, then stopped, unable to see even his outstretched hands.

 

“Anakin, stop, you won’t be able to find them in this mess!”

 

Somewhere deep below, he heard the sound of metal crashing violently against rocks, the capsule being mangled by the force of impact. A boom, louder than the others. Then, silence.

 

Qui-Gon’s heart threatened to jump up his throat.

 

“Master! I got them!” Anakin shouted, his excitement flooding through their Padawan bond, releasing the tension in Qui-Gon’s chest with a start. Qui-Gon folded his scarf around his mouth and nose to keep from breathing in the dust.   


“Where are you?” he shouted, his voice muffled by the cloth.

 

“Just follow my voice, Master, and tread carefully. The cliffs are closer than I estimated.”

 

_Well, that’s certainly helpful_ , Qui-Gon thought, but headed Anakin’s warning and felt his way both with the Force and the tips of his boots.

 

“Stay here,” he advised the Senator, whom he could hear exiting their ship behind him.

 

“Be careful!” Senator Organa gave back, worriedly. “I’ll see if there are any other capsules nearby.”

 

Qui-Gon grumbled his assent and turned back around, following Anakin’s voice.

 

Finally, the sand and dust settled down enough so Qui-Gon could make out the scenery in front of him.

 

Anakin kneeled in front of a steep chasm, his hands folded around some kind of hook that had lodged into a mass of rocks.

 

“Master, I’ll need your help with this,” he gasped, a frown on his face from trying to secure the hook further into the rocky soil with the help of the Force.

 

Qui-Gon hurried closer and looked down the abyss. He could see two people hanging there, one holding desperately onto the other’s frame while the other one’s arm was wrapped into a length of safety rope – literally the only thing keeping them from tumbling into the void.

 

A distinct hue of copper and amber met his eyes and finally sent his heart right into his mouth.

 

In an instant, Qui-Gon knelt at Anakin’s side and helped him pull, careful not to strain the rope on the sharp rocks.

 

Inch by inch, the two men were lifted up towards the pulling Jedi. A slight film of sweat gathered on Qui-Gon’s brow as they hauled the men further up, focused both on pulling evenly and trying to convince the rope not to rip apart on the sharp rocks sticking out below.

 

His head refused to give in to wondering about the men’s fate right now. How they came to touch down on Geonosis, on this day, by these cliffs.

 

He shoved the thoughts aside with sheer will, focusing only on the progress he an Anakin made on pulling these men up.

 

Finally, once they were close enough to reach, Qui-Gon stretched his arm towards the man holding on the cable. As their hands touched, energy surged through Qui-Gon’s veins, a distinct and familiar tingle almost blotting out everything else.

 

With a groan, he reared himself back into consciousness and hauled up the man, feeling Anakin helping his companion up onto the plateau beside him.

 

Obi-Wan climbed a little further from the abyss before lying down on his back, trying to catch his breath, his breast heaving violently with every cough.

 

Qui-Gon looked at him anxiously, then shot a glance at the second man coughing up enough debris to create a cloud. Obi-Wan’s famous shadow, again, undoubtedly.

 

The Clone Commander was crouching on hands and knees, groaning and coughing up another mouthful of sand, but seeming otherwise unharmed. The scar on the side of his head was accentuated by the sweat coating his face.

 

Anakin patted him on the back with a relieved smile. The Commander raised his thumb at him, the universal sign that he was fine, while still coughing and shaking his head. 

 

Qui-Gon released a breath he hadn’t consciously held and lifted his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehand but the movement was stopped short by a flash of crimson on his palm. It took him a second or two to register the implications, another second to kneel down next to Obi-Wan.

 

Without a word, he searched his body for wounds but his hands were slapped away impatiently.

 

“I’m fine, Master Jinn. It’s nothing,” Obi-Wan huffed out, his voice coarse as if he’d swallowed gravel.

 

“You’re hurt, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon retorted, his voice more stern than intended. “Where is it?”

 

Their gaze met for a brief moment before Obi-Wan averted his eyes, stopping short before rolling them at his old Master.

 

Qui-Gon frowned at a smudge of blood on Obi-Wan’s forehead, almost covering a darkening bruise, but that wound seemed to be older, the blood already clotted and streaked with sweat.

 

“What’s wrong?” came Anakin’s voice from behind him, sounding worried at their obvious display of tension.

 

“It’s nothing, Anakin. My arm got caught in the rope. It’s just a bit of torn skin.” Obi-Wan lifted his sleeve and Anakin winced at the sight of blood and already blackening, angry bruises.

 

At that, Obi-Wan managed a laugh. “Really, I’d rather get my arm tangled in wire any day than be turned into mush by tumbling down a cliff.

 

“Thank you, both, by the way,” he added, shooting Qui-Gon a wary glance before looking away towards the chasm where their capsule had vanished.

 

He held out his other hand and let Anakin pull him to his feet, when his younger Padawan brother offered. Whether Qui-Gon imagined or not he wasn’t sure, but he could swear he saw Obi-Wan wince a little as he straightened his back. He had to force his eyes off the crimson streaking Obi-Wan’s tunic from wrist to elbow.

 

“General Kenobi! Commander Cody!” came a shout. Bail reached them, slightly out of breath. The Commander had gotten to his feet and saluted the Senator as he arrived.

 

“I’m surprised to see you here, Anakin” Obi-Wan frowned. “Frankly, I’m surprised to see any of you here, Senator,” he greeted Bail Organa. Obi-Wan turned his head to Anakin and Qui-Gon, finally letting his confusion get the better of him.

 

“What are you all doing on Geonosis?”

 

Qui-Gon studied his former apprentice as Bail Organa recounted their mission to him. He stood erect, head held high, but Qui-Gon was sure he could detect a slight cringe every time Obi-Wan moved.

_Still too proud to show weakness_ , Qui-Gon thought. Some habits didn’t seem to leave easily.

 

The blood on Obi-Wan’s forehead and arm had quickly dried in the Geonosian sun and his face was caked with dirt, but his eyes shone, alert as usual, when they shot from Bail to Qui-Gon and Anakin, his frown deepening with every word the Senator uttered. The wound on his forehead opened up with the strain, and Qui-Gon balled his hand to a fist at the sight. He felt the dried blood crackle on his own palm.

 

_Foolish_ , he thought to himself. If he only knew who deserved that adjective more.

 

When the Senator finished his recital on their on-planet ordeal, Obi-Wan shook his head, stroking his dusty beard with his unharmed hand.

 

“I don’t like the sound of that, Senator,” he said, shooting Anakin a quick glance as he did.

 

“And I don’t think my own little adventure here was a coincidence, either.”

 

“What happened to you, then?” Anakin asked, turning his gaze from Obi-Wan to the clone. A familiar gleam appeared in his eyes, one that Qui-Gon had been loath to see there ever since after Anakin’s first mission in the war. Battle hungry. Eager.

 

“General Grievous is what happened,” Obi-Wan replied, looking suddenly exhausted. He passed his hand over his eyes before speaking again.

 

“Senator Organa, I need to ask a favor of you,” he said. “I am sure the Geonosians have noticed our modest little firework here, and I assume they’ll have questions. Can you come up with something plausible about this, until the Senate has had the opportunity to react?”

 

Senator Organa nodded gravely.

 

“I don’t understand-,” Anakin began.

 

“I believe this mess has been carefully orchestrated, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replied, sounding ostentatiously patient to Qui-Gon’s ears. Anakin didn’t seem to mind that, though, if he even noticed the condescending tone at all.

 

“The Separatists would just _love_ the Geonosians to see the Republic fail at the signing of the peace treaty. You know how Geonosis used to be a valuable ally to the Separatists. It’s a substantial loss to their ranks.”

 

“I agree with General Kenobi,” Senator Organa nodded.

 

“It would be a clever move, if a bit brute.” He turned to Obi-Wan. “I will get back to the city and blow some smoke in their eyes. But I shall need you back on Coruscant to make a statement in front of the Senate.”

 

Obi-Wan inclined his head at this in agreement. Qui-Gon felt his forehead crease at this. He did not like the sound of this, at all. His glance met Commander Cody’s and was surprised to see a shared concern in the clone’s eyes, of all people.

 

“Well, I guess you’ll need a lift then,” Anakin interrupted Qui-Gon’s thoughts, sounding more cheerful than Qui-Gon felt.

 

Obi-Wan turned around to face him, a slight smile curving his chapped lips.

 

“I guess you might be right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh you people giving me ideas in the comments and I've already finished the first part of my story (pretty much). ;) i hope you'll bear with my self-indulgent ass


	7. Droplets and Mist, no Rain just yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon doesn't like closed quarters. Particularly those he can't easily escape.

As soon as they’d boarded their freighter Anakin had pressed the use of their shared cabin upon Obi-Wan. The General had tried to refuse, politely, even tried to argue his way into staying in the ship’s pax room with them.

 

It had taken a sharp turn of their ship, which almost swept him off his feet, to make Obi-Wan acknowledge defeat and take shelter in their cubicle.

 

Qui-Gon saw him vanish behind the door, hiding the unsteadiness of his legs underneath a proud gait. But Qui-Gon knew better, had had the opportunity to learn of Obi-Wan’s mannerisms ever since he’d become his Master. (It had, in fact, taken him several years to find out the true extent of Obi-Wan’s ability to suppress signs of pain, and it had been a horror show all the way once he found out.)

 

Now, Obi-Wan’s body language spoke of hurt.

 

Qui-Gon had sat down, watching the little scene unfold, a little off from where Anakin and the Commander had taken their respective seats, and tried not to gag on his cup of stale tea.

 

Time crawled on, and the events earlier in the day along with the original purpose of their mission became a distant memory, as if everything had happened weeks ago already. His tea had gone cold by the time their ship received a call from Admiral Yularen, leader of the Republic’s vast fleet.

Qui-Gon grew more uneasy still at the sight of the man, his appetite blotted out completely by the slight sneer the Admiral bore, as he looked down upon Anakin and Commander Cody as he recounted the Forbearance’s fate.

 

Yularen had apparently been sent on his way to collect the remaining clone troopers who’d escaped the explosion. As of now, Qui-Gon learned, the majority of the Forbearance’s crew was still unaccounted for.

 

Qui-Gon attempted to block out the clone’s voice along with Yularen’s, tried not to listen and imagine the battle in his head but couldn’t help leaning closer into their conversation, biting his tongue ever so often as to not interrupt the Commander.

 

A mental image of the Forbearance, being torn to pieces by Grievous – a man he knew (thanks to him keeping away from active war business on the frontlines) by holovid and reputation only – sent the bile up his throat.

 

He sighed inwardly, finally setting aside the last few sips of tea in disgust. He couldn’t picture his former Padawan in any of this, couldn’t picture his Obi-Wan Kenobi, the slight and tender boy he’d used to train, in the midst of all this mayhem. Whoever inhabited the small cabin at the end of the hall in their freighter could not be the same boy he once knew, despite their obvious similarities.

 

_His_ Obi-Wan would not, not ever, allow himself to fight in a war of such proportions, would never allow himself to forgo the true calling of the Jedi to be called a General. Not him. Even when the rest of the Order seemed to have lost their collective minds. Obi-Wan, the way he used to be, would have refused to join in that kind of lunacy.

 

Qui-Gon got up from his little table but found himself at a loss. If alone with Anakin, he would have paced the hallway restlessly, trying to make sense of it all while occupying his feet. Maybe engage Anakin in a discussion about it all, most probably badger his last apprentice with questions about the implications of Grievous’ attack.

 

But in front of the clone he did not care about drawing attention to himself.

 

But there was nowhere to go to get some privacy. The cockpit was too cramped for both the pilot and himself, and even with only three people present the hall seemed too crowded to air out his thoughts. Qui-Gon eyed the door to their cabin hesitantly.

 

The last thing he wanted to do was find his former Padawan awake, to have to confront this stranger he now was to him in such an enclosed space, with nowhere to go. Yet his restlessness only seemed to grow.

 

Finally, after much ruminating, Qui-Gon managed to find enough composure to go and reach for the door handle.

_How ridiculous I have become_ , he wondered _, being afraid of my own Padawan. How did I let this happen?_

 

He managed to open the doors almost without making any noise and was taken aback at first to find the lights still on. He turned around to the bedsteads instantly, ready to apologize to Obi-Wan for intruding, but saw the man, fully dressed and on top of the covers, fast asleep.

 

Qui-Gon stepped closer, careful not to rouse the sleeper. Obi-Wan looked as if he had just collapsed onto the bed and fallen to, with minimal fuss. He had only shed his tunic, probably in order to spare Anakin’s bed from the dust and debris still clinging to his clothes.

 

Qui-Gon sighed noiselessly, at last having found a trace of his Padawan in the stranger before him.

 

Obi-Wan, from boyhood, had always had a knack for being able to rest in the most uncomfortable positions. It was one of the first things Qui-Gon had admired about him, before he’d uncovered the boy’s courage and dedication.

 

And his sheer bottomless supply of anger.

 

Qui-Gon the unbidden thought away and settled down on his mattress next to Anakin’s bed, now occupied by the Knight’s predecessor.

 

Obi-Wan looked almost like a young Knight again himself in his sleep, his brow for once unfurrowed, like the years had just been washed off along with the Geonosian dust. He lay on his side, his arm stretched from him and Qui-Gon could see he had fastened a few bacta patches onto his torn skin.

 

Had he come with a mind to meditate a little, the thought was forgotten now as Qui-Gon contemplated the sleeping man before him. His lips were slightly parted, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his breath. Qui-Gon resisted the urge to stroke his face, to feel the prickle of this unfamiliar beard that hid Obi-Wan’s features so completely.

 

To maybe touch his palm to those lips and feel the breath pass them.

 

Somewhere in this face there were the kindness, the goodhearted cockiness, his trademark smile. Qui-Gon could see all of this and none of it at once, everything there and yet obliterated by the time that had passed between then and now. Even sleep could not fully smoothen out the lines of worry that streaked Obi-Wan’s face in the harsh artificial light of the cabin.

 

Qui-Gon couldn’t help but wonder at the actions this man had taken in the last few hours. Seeing him so close had almost made Qui-Gon forget his preoccupation with General Kenobi, the man made heart and face of the Clone Wars.

 

But still, this sleeping person before him had chosen to abandon his men, had lost more than half of his ship’s crew, had literally clung to his naked life upon his return to what must be, to him, a most despised planet.

 

Obi-Wan groaned softly as if hearing the thought, and turned on his back, his eyes closed. The way he held his arm told Qui-Gon volumes about how it must hurt him even in his sleep, despite the medical patches he must’ve helped himself to from Anakin’s stash.

 

Suddenly Qui-Gon was not sure any more about his gladness of finding Obi-Wan asleep. The years between them, the silence between them now felt like cobblestones weighing him down.

 

All of a sudden, not even the little silent cabin on their freighter provided the solace Qui-Gon badly needed. He longed for them to return back to Coruscant, to flee into the Temple gardens and find some peace there, away from anything and anyone.

 

As it was, the flight would still take them almost a full day and a half until they’d reach the Coruscanti orbit.

 

A whole eternity it felt to Qui-Gon, with his usual patience and serenity nowhere in reach. He found himself pacing in the small space between his bed and the door, only a step and a half apart for a man like Obi-Wan. To Qui-Gon, it wasn’t even that much.

 

Qui-Gon’s hand played with his beard as he was wont to do since his own Knighthood. He pulled his robes closer around him in an attempt to reign in his emotions, but failed more or less miserably.

 

Qui-Gon was torn between returning back to Anakin and the clone, or staying here with Obi-Wan and cooking in his own inner turmoil. Leaving meant having to sit with Anakin and the Commander, who were most likely still engrossed in discussing war tactics.

 

Staying meant being tortured by the presence of his old apprentice, closer than in all the years after his Knighting Ceremony, within arm’s reach even, yet far removed into the realm of fitful sleep.

 

Qui-Gon forced himself still and took a gulp or two of the cabin’s stale air. _Get a grip_ , he berated himself.

 

Finally, he sat down upon his own mattress again and folded his legs in his usual meditation posture, a grim determination settling within him. He closed his eyes and let his head clear of all thoughts, his heart of all emotions. His mind wandered and Qui-Gon gave up all attempts of directing his thoughts.

 

They soon gathered in a misty cloud, directing him towards a point long years in the past. He refused to wonder at the directions his mind took but gave himself up to their flow, ready to accept whatever clarity the Force would grant him there.

 

He awoke to a tingly sensation on his feet. Looking down he discovered that he was walking barefoot in the middle of a crisp, dewy meadow. His feet were already damp and chilly, but the feeling was anything but unpleasant.

 

The air was clean, but of a different quality than he was used to and when he looked up, his surroundings did not look familiar.

 

He was not in one of the Coruscanti Temple gardens. The air smelled clear if slightly scented by an unknown plant that must be growing all over the place. Its thin petals flapped in a cool breeze that ruffled his own hair and pushed them into his face. He took a deep breath and almost folded over at the sharp pain settling in his chest.

 

“Careful, Master. You’re still recovering, remember?”

 

Qui-Gon turned his head at that. Walking by his side, his arm wrapped tenderly around Qui-Gon’s waist and sporting a cheerful if a little concerned beam, was Obi-Wan.

 

Qui-Gon couldn’t help gawking at the sight. Obi-Wan’s Padawan braid was hanging from behind his ear down to his chest, and his face was youthful and full, untouched yet by time.

 

He opened his mouth to say something but no words came. Obi-Wan smiled at him and reached up to Qui-Gon’s face to push some stray hair back on his scalp, a familiar gesture that spoke deeply of their mutual trust and easy intimacy.

 

“Don’t speak just yet, Master, it’ll strain your chest and it’s still early in the morning. Dajïn will come soon to fetch you some tonic. We can resume yesterday’s conversation after breakfast, when you’ve had some tea.”

 

Qui-Gon nodded his head, the worried undertone in Obi-Wan’s voice not lost on him although Obi-Wan tried his best to shield his worry from him. He still felt a harsh ache in his chest but decided not to dwell on that. The wound would heal as the Naboo medic had assured him. It would just take a little time.

 

He was also careful not to let his thoughts wander back to when he first received that near fatal blow, lest it would transfer through their Padawan bond and in turn startle Obi-Wan. The boy was worried enough as it was.

 

“Queen Amidala was very courteous in providing us with the use of her cottage, don’t you think?” Obi-Wan started again, an attempt at a necessarily one-sided conversation.

 

Qui-Gon smiled at him in return and nodded again, patting Obi-Wan’s arm where it emerged from behind his back.

 

It was indeed refreshing to get away from the buzz in Theed and he had the distinct feeling that Obi-Wan couldn’t get away from this “blasted palace” fast enough.

 

Obi-Wan and Anakin Skywalker had attended the peace festivities there on their own, while Qui-Gon had rested in a deep, medically induced sleep back in the queen’s own quarters. After that, Queen Amidala had made sure they had a transport to the countryside as soon as Qui-Gon was awake.

 

“… and once you’re fit for transport, the Council will send a ship to get you back home.” Obi-Wan continued.

 

Qui-Gon turned his head in appreciation of his surroundings once more. He was loath to leave this beautiful place but there was still duty waiting ahead. He still had to convince the Council to grant Anakin’s training, and that was his number one priority.

 

_Well_ , he thought to himself, _right after getting better, that is._

 

Obi-Wan tugged gently at his arm to get his attention and pointed behind them.

 

“Look, Master. They’re already preparing breakfast. We must have stirred them, getting up so early. Let’s go back then, we’ve gotten much farther than yesterday, anyway.”

 

Qui-Gon looked at the little patch of grass that separated them from the breakfast table being set up in front of their little cottage. It wasn’t much more than maybe two hundred yards they’d been walking, but Obi-Wan was right. It was a great deal more than they’d been doing the day before.

 

Obi-Wan was insistent that Qui-Gon would get his strength back, but he adamantly took care he wouldn’t overexert himself.

 

So he didn’t protest as Obi-Wan steered him back towards the cottage, one arm still around him, the other hand stabilizing Qui-Gon’s gait. _I must be a pitiful sight_ , Qui-Gon mused, but he already felt the progress of his wound healing and decided not to worry about it too much.

 

He didn’t pay attention at how long it took them to reach their breakfast table, but he was sure it was an unbecomingly long time. The attendants bowed at them as Obi-Wan helped Qui-Gon into his chair, then vanished back into the house to give them some privacy.

 

Obi-Wan poured some tea and Qui-Gon sipped gingerly, accepting Obi-Wan’s offer of a tiny slice of bread as a loud voice interrupted their leisurely silence. Qui-Gon looked around in time only to be nearly squashed in a tight embrace.

 

“Anakin, you’re back from Theed!” Qui-Gon proclaimed, his voice labored and almost inaudible.

 

He tried to keep the young boy’s enthusiasm at bay, smiling.

 

“Try and not squeeze an old man in half, young one!”

 

Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan, feeling a grin sparkling in his eyes. Obi-Wan sat stone-still, his cup of tea half raised to his mouth, a wooden expression in his features. The hard look on his face only melted when Anakin shot him a radiant smile and went to hug him, too.

 

“It’s good to see you too, Ani,” he laughed and offered him a piece of his pie which the boy gulped down all too happily. Obi-Wan looked up and met Qui-Gon’s eyes, a most curious look of uneasy anticipation marring his previous smile.

 

Qui-Gon opened his eyes. He found himself reclining against the back wall of the freighter cabin, his feet entangled within the sheets on his mattress. He looked around in the small space, disoriented.

_A dream_ , he thought. _Only a dream._

 

As his eyes fell upon the second bedstead he found it deserted. He was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've not yet reached a real conversation, but we'll get there, I promise (though you might not like the outcome). Foreshadowing? Me? It's more likely than you think.


	8. A Lull, A Dream, A Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cody can't fall asleep. And once he can, he still can't quite escape the war.

After a long while their conversation had dwindled and faded away, and both Cody and General Skywalker had given in to some much needed sleep.

 

When Cody woke up, only a few more hours away from reaching Coruscant – thank the gods! – his thoughts had wandered back to the men they’d lost in battle the day before. Good men, brave soldiers.

 

He hoped, without much conviction, that some of them might have been able to escape via their lower-level rescue pods – but it was rather unlikely that any of them would have abandoned ship without their General’s express permission. And there had been precious little time for him to do so.

 

Grievous had seen to that.

 

For those who had been with them and whom General Kenobi had shoved out via escape pods, Cody was not sure they got far enough to avoid the ship’s explosion. Within less than two hours, more than half of the Forbearance’s crew had been eliminated, not to speak of the men they’d lost in General Grievous’ stealth attack.

 

They themselves had had a more than narrow escape. If it hadn’t been for General Skywalker and Master Jinn, they’d probably still be dangling over this godsforsaken, kriffing pit or been smashed into so many pieces upon its rocky bottom.

 

Cody sighed, his chest heaving almost painfully, a nasty reminder of being thrown about in an escape capsule gone rogue.

 

Once it had all seemed so novel to Cody, the concept of Jedi and Sith, the sheer scope of the intergalactic conflict they were supposed to navigate.

 

But up close, it was just a bloody mess.

 

No, he thought. No one among his brothers would have had the nerve to abandon ship without direct orders. That’s what they’d been trained to do.

 

Do your job. Obey your orders. Be brave.

 

_Stand with your brothers_ was what their General had once told them, a long time ago, the day he took over Cody’s battalion, the rows and rows of soldiers lined up to hear his speech.

 

_And do your fallen ones proud_ , Kenobi had uttered, something Cody had to strain his ears to make out.

 

Back then, when the grief over his brothers lost in their first campaign as a battalion was still oozing bitterness within him rather than reinforcing the steel resolve he’d developed since, Cody hadn’t understood how much the loss of men would affect his General, too. He’d been preoccupied with licking his own wounds and making sense of what was going on around him.

 

Only through time it had become clear that General Kenobi saw him and his men as valuable beyond their usefulness on a battle field. That the loss of each and every soldier chipped away at him just as much as it did for Cody. That sending them into yet another rain of blaster fire didn’t harden him the way it did with other regiment leaders.

 

His brothers sensed that just as Cody did. And it was their General’s devotion to his men that made them respect him in turn.

 

Cody looked across the room to the closed door of the ship’s cabin, where General Kenobi was still resting.

 

No wonder, Cody thought, that blow on his head really seemed a bit rough no matter how much the General downplayed his injuries. He himself had been dealt a few blows, but he knew, given a little more time, he’d be more or less all right, given the circumstances. His armor had, yet again, done him good service.

 

Everything was quiet. Master Jinn had joined the General in the cabin while Cody and General Skywalker had still discussed the mission, and had probably also gone to sleep.

 

General Skywalker, too, lolled in his seat, his long legs sprawled on a small desk. He was snoring lightly, mouth a little agape, more childlike in his sleep than usual.

 

Cody liked the young General, his zest and cheekiness were a fitting contrast and balance to General Kenobi’s usual calm and cunning demeanor. It was no surprise they made a good team, and Cody enjoyed it whenever their battalions had the opportunity to work a campaign together.

 

Well, at any rate, he absolutely loved working with Captain Rex and, of all the Jedi and Jedi Generals Cody had encountered thus far, he preferred General Kenobi and General Skywalker by a long stretch.

 

While every other Jedi – even Master Shaak Ti who’d chaperoned them from the time of their clone infancy on Kamino – seemed distant and even a little doubtful towards the clone troopers, Kenobi and Skywalker had accepted them as more or less equals, distinguished only through their military ranks rather than upbringing.

 

Skywalker had even gone so far to instill the same sentiment in his Padawan learner, Commander Tano, whom Cody had watched grow from a shy little imp in Skywalker’s shadow to a fierce warrior in her own right, fearless and loyal.

 

Whenever their battalions fought alongside each other, the soldiers could be sure Kenobi, Skywalker, and Tano would be in the front row, right along with their men, not hidden somewhere in the back like many of their enemy Generals would.

 

They’d receive the same blows as Cody and his brothers, and their bodies bore much of the same scars, too.

 

Cody and General Kenobi, especially, had made it their custom to look out for each other in battle, a habit they fell into naturally – pretty much from the beginning. At first, it seemed like a necessity of rank, but it soon became a question of mutual trust and taking care of each other.

 

Still, in spite of their efforts, there would always be a diverted ray or blaster bolt and another scratch added to their skin.

 

Cody stifled a yawn when his eyes stole back to that closed door at the end of the pax room. His overexerted mind, too alert to sleep and too tired to stay awake, roiled around the thought of smelly bacta bandages, and missions, and scars, and hurt as if in high fever.

 

He should sleep, he thought desperately.

 

But his mind wouldn’t let him, like an engine in overdrive.

 

Cody had experienced thinks like this in the past, when his body wanted to shut down but his brain still clung to wakefulness, thoughts racing like blaster fire, turning and churning.

 

Always returning to their starting point, like a serpent biting its tail.

 

At long last, Cody slipped under, his body propped by his armrests, only his hips slumping forward towards the edge of his seat, finally overpowered by exhaustion.

 

Only sleep, he soon learned, couldn’t stop his mind from tumbling over itself.

 

Things long in the past, these first few fateful missions with their newly assigned General, came up in one jumbled mess, mixing truth with apprehension until it was barely recognizable.  

 

Cody’s body shivered slightly as he dreamed of the first glimpse he’d got from the Sith-trained assassin, Asajj Ventress. Her shaved head covered in tattoos, the shine of her two eerily curved lightsabers like a red corona over his General’s scalp, became huge and distorted in his tired mind.

 

Cody twitched in his sleep, once more, unable to prevent his memories from unfolding.

 

The Mid-Rim planet they’d fought on had resembled a ball covered in desert, but in his dream it was somewhere else, an ever-evolving rainforest covered in high grass and foreign flowers.

 

His battalion preoccupied with a horde of droids, Cody and General Kenobi had found themselves cornered by Ventress and her nameless Twi’lek stooge. In Cody’s dream the two of them soon lost sight of each other amid the chaos Ventress had created.

 

Cody, a bodiless an involuntarily helpless ovserver, watched as General Kenobi chased Ventress through the undergrowth of the vast jungle forest, but Ventress soon outran him, got onto a speeder and eventually vanished out of sight.

 

Cody’s eyes rolled beneath his lids as he dream-remembered seeing Kenobi emerge from under a mass of trees after he had finally managed to overpower Ventress’ Twi’lek servant.

 

The General, in a scandalizing and to-date unseen motion, threw his lightsaber from him and dropped to his knees, wailing, ripping open his cloak and tugging at his tunics.

 

Cody had broken in a sprint and caught the General by the time he fell forward, his upper body strewn with insect stings, his skin flaring up in angry red blotches.

 

Cody, now fast asleep in an objectively uncomfortable position, jerked his leg forward, hitting Skywalker’s chair with it.

 

Neither man stirred.

 

In his dream, he wondered how none of them had anticipated that the planet they’d had entered could become dangerous all by itself. Once again, Cody felt grateful for his armor, mentally chiding his General for discarding the most parts of his own armor during the course of the war.

 

Cody watched on as General Kenobi fought for breath but soon got better once a medic trooper had injected him with an antidote.

 

But Cody had seen what the General most likely would have preferred to remain unexposed.

 

A mass of scars, inflicted by blaster bolts and what he thought were lightsaber wounds, cut through the skin of his back like streets cut through the green on a roadmap, so light they would have been barely visible if not for the bright sun overhead.

 

Cody had to pry his eyes off his General’s back in order to com for a rescue transport.

 

Cody was startled awake as the holotransmitter beeped and Senator Organa’s stern visage appeared on the screen.

 

Presently, General Skywalker was awakened from his slumber, as well, just as the cabin door opened and General Kenobi emerged from within, looking a bit disheveled but otherwise fine.

 

“How are you holding up, Senator Organa,” General Skywalker enquired after exchanging a brief nod with General Kenobi, who’d halted by his side.

 

“I got the situation under control, General Skywalker, General Kenobi,” the Senator answered but his face remained serious. “As of now I’m only a little behind you on my travel back to Coruscant, since the Geonosians weren’t keen to keep hosting another Republic ambassador in what they deem a disgraced ceremonial act.

  
“I must say you both caused a bit of a stir on Geonosis today,” Organa added. “I’m afraid it might take another goodwill visit from the Republic to restore the peaceful relations with the Geonosian officials.”

 

General Kenobi smiled apologetically up at his projection as Senator Organa turned to him.

 

“As I said, I am now on my way to Coruscant and I expect you to meet up with me before I have the dubious honor of explaining the situation to the Senate, General Kenobi.”

 

“I am at your disposal, Senator Organa,” General Kenobi replied with a little bow.

“I will gladly share your ordeal and present myself at the Senate meeting. Along with General Skywalker, if he cares to join me,” he added, with a playfully sly smile as he addressed Skywalker next to him.

 

It was clear by the look on his face that General Skywalker did not share the cheerful sentiment of his companion at the prospect.

 

“That won’t be necessary, General,” the Senator replied, not quite managing to hide his panic at the thought of Anakin Skywalker appearing before the Senate.

 

“Knight Skywalker and Master Jinn will, I assume, be needed in the Temple to report before the Council.”

 

General Kenobi nodded, the tease in his eyes dulling into the steel usually reserved for missions.

 

“I agree, Senator,” he said. “But so will I. I shall meet you in the Rotunda right after I’ve given my report to my fellow Councilors.”

 

Once the Senator bade them goodbye, Skywalker turned to General Kenobi, hitting him on the shoulder amiably.

 

“Thanks for that, old friend.” He groaned.

 

“Well, Anakin. From what I gathered the Geonosians were already a bit vexed before I showed up and planted a sodden wreck upon their soil,” Kenobi replied.

 

General Skywalker’s face softened a bit at that.

 

“Yeah, about that. How are you doing anyway, Obi-Wan?”

 

Cody’s ears pricked up at the informal address, even though it wasn’t unheard of between these two Generals. He still wasn’t used to hearing General Kenobi’s given name.

 

General Kenobi waved his uninjured hand dismissively. “I’m fine, Anakin.” He shot Cody a look, who felt his mouth pucker up in incredulity. “Well, as fine as I can be, anyway.”

 

“There was nothing more you could have done,” General Skywalker offered, but General Kenobi shook his head in frustration.

 

“There was plenty to do, Anakin. I just wasted too much time before-”

 

“Sirs. We are preparing to enter Coruscanti skies,” the pilot informed them via loudspeakers, cutting short whatever the General was about to say.

 

“Better tell Master Jinn,” General Kenobi advised Anakin, “I think he fell asleep in there, meditating.”

 

General Skywalker held back a snort. “He’s not going to like it if I phrase it to him like that.”

 

Kenobi smiled. “You’d hardly let him live that down so soon, I take it?”

 

Skywalker just shot him a naughty grin and headed back towards the cabin.

 

Once he’d vanished behind the door, the fond smile on General Kenobi’s face faltered a little. Cody walked up to him and waited for Kenobi to meet his gaze. When he finally did, Cody was taken aback at the sheer amount of exhaustion deepening the lines on his General’s face despite the sleep he must have gotten.

 

Something must have shown in his own features, because the General turned to face him fully.

 

He opened his mouth to speak but again his voice was drowned out by the ship’s engines preparing to touch down, leaving Cody to wonder about what it was that the General did not choose to repeat to him once they’d landed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I've not been too productive these past weeks. Work is a b*tch and I was sick, too. I hope to get more time after the next week is over.
> 
> Also... I'm looking forward to show you the next few chapters. They're written but need a little revision. Stay tuned though and don't give up on me x


	9. Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin can't find his center. Lucky for him, his Padawan provides some distraction.

Anakin was rambling and he knew it.

 

He’d half expected to rise from his slumber refreshed and ready to face whatever fresh hell Coruscant – and especially the Temple –had to offer, but instead of calming his nerves his nap on their freighter had only managed to rattle them.

 

His Master didn’t seem to have gotten the kind of regenerating rest he’d hoped for either, and Anakin latched onto that with a little more desperation than he cared to admit.

 

“What happened to focus on your goal? Clear your mind? Don’t let your bodily qualms get the better of you,” he joked, but Qui-Gon didn’t bite.

 

He’d hoped to get a rise out of his Master, if only to squabble for a little while they were waiting to disembark. Something to rub against, something to scratch an itch with. Maybe to even share some of the gloomy prospect of facing the Council.

 

But it was to no avail.

 

Had they been alone, he’d have tried his tricks on Obi-Wan, who’d proven to be a worthy opponent in exchanging playful jibes, sometimes even in the worst of circumstances. It was often kind of soothing to verbally pounce at each other during trying times without venting to each other, exactly.

 

It was as if his brother-Padawan had sussed out his coping mechanism, picking up on his need for constant validation about as quickly as their Master had. But instead of quelling it, Obi-Wan had chosen to indulge him. Well, most of the time. Just not today.

 

Anakin, in turn, had managed to instill this very same habit within his own Padawan, too. Ahsoka was just as quick-witted as Obi-Wan, and even less ready to tame her tongue than Anakin himself.

 

But none of them, not even Obi-Wan, were able to verbally dance around an opponent as good as Qui-Gon Jinn. If he was inclined to do so.

 

But when it came to mid-fight chit-chat, with Qui-Gon it had become a seldom pleasure. Anakin remembered their missions together, from pretty early into his Padawanhood and up until the start of the Wars. He’d often stood a little behind him to honor his status, and then would open-mouthedly marvel at his Master’s skill. Qui-Gon seemed to have the ability to appease parties that had battled each other for decades, within a few days. Granted, it didn’t always work without a little muscle involved, but either way Qui-Gon managed to forge a way through any kind of squabble, big or small.

 

Granted, not even Qui-Gon was fortunate enough to evade hands-on battle forever. And any such occasion showed clearly that Qui-Gon wasn’t immune to running his mouth, and also not to enjoying it profusely. But where both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were prone to biting sarcasm and the occasional morbidity, Qui-Gon had always veered into a more paternal version of the same. It was something Anakin had tried to incorporate with his own teaching, but Ahsoka was the living and breathing proof that he’d more or less failed.

 

She was just as foul-mouthed as Anakin himself. And secretly, he reveled in it.

 

On the other hand, both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan seemed to be able to keep both their mouths and their body language in check when necessary. Anakin, though, still struggled with his own inability to keep his calm in sticky situations. The smallest slight fired up his engines until he was foaming at the mouth and ready to start kicking. He always had been that way, even as a small child, even as a Padawan.

 

He was the one to get into harsh fights with fellow Padawans in the hallways and during sparring training. He was also the one to cause a scene or two on the streets of Coruscant, even when all Master Qui-Gon was planning to do was a quick chat with Dexter Jettster over early lunch. And whenever there was an opportunity to make trouble on their off-planet missions, Anakin seemed to pounce as if on command. He couldn’t help it. His temperament came through at the worst moments, often endangering peace talks that had been decades in the making.

 

It was one of Anakin’s greatest shames, reaching the title of a Jedi Knight without mastering this particular skill.

 

It was even more painful to know that the talents he was lacking seemed to come naturally to his Master and his Padawan brother. To whichever affront or difficulties they reacted with utter humility and calm politeness, like they had a well of wisdom inside them, and an endless supply of patience from which they drew.

 

Even the most outrageous insult would prompt them only to increase their restraint, working their opponent like an intricate machine, chiseling and gouging away without anyone realizing until they reached their goal. In a peaceful setting, the worst thing they would present outwardly was a cold detachedness.

 

And even when things really heated up, they seldom lost their composure until it became obvious that their quarrel would become violent. Obi-Wan especially managed to keep up some delightful chatter even while being beaten to a pulp. Anakin remembered being treated to a rather interesting instance of Obi-Wan’s special variety of negotiation skill from when they’d worked together to free the population of Kiros. _That_ was a gift not even shared by their master.

 

Obi-Wan had tried to teach Anakin how to not lose his mind on shared missions multiple times, but it usually ended up badly anyway. Even Ahsoka, despite their similar temperament, fared better than him, learning to adjust with every hurdle thrown in her path.

 

Sometimes Anakin wondered what made him so different from the other Jedi that shared his lineage. All of them, including Count Dooku, seemed to have the necessary ability to handle their emotions so that they didn’t interfere with their purpose. Even as their paths had separated – sometimes dramatically so –, something within the fractured lines of their shared heritage had made them into exemplary Jedi in their time. Anakin, on the other hand, sensed he’d fallen short.

 

Anakin sighed, stretching and bending his neck before gathering up the small satchel he’d bundled up into one of the freighters parcel compartments. It was almost time to disembark, and the prospect didn’t bring him much joy.

 

He met the others who gathered near the freighter’s exit, everyone’s faces more or less marked with fatigue and lack of rest. Especially Obi-Wan, despite Anakin’s suspicion that he was the one who’d gotten in the most shut-eye.

 

Anakin yearned to poke at Obi-Wan a little. He’s have gotten at least one reply, probably laced in affectionate sarcasm. But in presence of their Master he didn’t dare.

 

He carefully set his satchel down next to his feet, trying to stifle a yawn.

 

Like that, he was reduced to cope with his rising anxiety on his own. He feared the Council’s looming disapproval about how he carried himself on Geonosis. And this time, sadly, they were right about him. Minister Kryshin had planned to get a rise out of him, and a rise he’d gotten.

  
Qui-Gon, who must have felt his unease through their bond, leaned over to him.

 

“I suggest you get a little rest once we’re in the Temple,” he told him quietly. “I’m sure they’ll send for us when they need a report.”

 

Anakin nodded, smiling his thanks as he felt soothing energy flood their bond.

 

Their freighter skidded to a slow halt, sending a mild jolt through its passengers. The door opened and the ramp came down with a rather inelegant bang.

 

Hoisting his bag back up on his shoulder, Anakin spied a familiar figure approaching the landing platform, her lekku barely hidden by her overcoat.

 

Seeing Ahsoka here on Coruscant was a surprise. Anakin expected her to be on another assignment already, but the Council might have thought it best to keep her in the Temple while her Master was on duty, for them to depart together once Anakin’s next mission was cleared.

 

„Hey, Skyguy,“ Ahsoka greeted him, not quite able to hide a smirk, but keeping her expression dignified enough around Anakin’s Master and Padawan brother. She bowed to the assembled group and pulled him away before proceeding to smack Anakin’s shoulder with her open hand.

 

“You’ve made quite an impression on Geonosis, I hear,” she huffed, once they were out of earshot of the small congregation.

Anakin didn’t mind her frank appraisal but found it difficult to respond in the same good humor. He watched Obi-Wan amble away towards the Temple, upright enough to mask his injuries for everybody but those who knew him best.

 

“You’re right I did,” he sighed, turning back to her. “I’m not sure the Council will view it as graciously as you.”

 

Ahsoka’s lekku twitched with sympathy. Anakin’s standing with the Council had always been tentative, and his Padawan was well aware of it. She had been with him often enough when the Members of the Council laid into him for yet another digression.

 

Anakin considered recapping the events for Ahsoka while they both bade their goodbyes to Master Qui-Gon, but he couldn’t find the words.

 

“It was a hot mess,” he conceded after a pause.

 

“Well, for once, you’re not the one who they’re going to lay into for messing stuff up,” Ahsoka said, her eyes wandering towards the Temple.

 

Anakin felt himself perk up a little. That was excellent news. “Huh?”

 

“Master Kenobi will have to stand questioning for dragging war actions into a recently appeased system,” Ahsoka said, biting the inside of her cheek. It was a telltale sign of restlessness. “That’s not going to be pretty, Master.”

 

Anakin nodded, his gaze following hers. “I hadn’t really seen it that way, but you’re right. Hells, Ahsoka, but I don’t envy him.”

 

“Yeah, plus, there’s going to be a Senate hearing soon as well. Today, if they can manage.”

 

“Who told you?” Anakin asked, eyebrows raised questioningly at his Padawan. He was surprised Ahsoka had been informed before his own Master had been told about it.

 

“Padmé told me. I was with her when the news hit.”

 

Anakin felt a pang of longing, hearing his wife’s name. He tried to speak to her as often as possible, but the ongoing war made it difficult to maintain regular contact, let alone meet her in person. He missed her, terribly so.

 

Ahsoka, noticing where his thoughts led him, elbowed him in the waist.

 

“Coruscant to Skywalker,” she teased.

 

“Yeah, I’m here, I’m here,” he replied absentmindedly.

“I know you probably want to go visit her right away but she’s already preparing for the Session in the Senate,” Ahsoka said. “In fact, she asked me to meet you here and keep you occupied.”

 

“Occupied,” Anakin repeated, assuming an offended tone.

 

“Yeah, occupied,” Ahsoka replied, unperturbed. “How about we go down to the training halls until the Council decides whether they need to flog you? You promised to show me how not to block my elbows during this particular move.”´

 

“I’m astounded you haven’t figured this out on your own, yet, Padawan,” Anakin huffed, but his interest was roused. Letting off some steam after this rollercoaster of a journey seemed like the right thing to do. Plus, it had been far too long since he and Ahsoka had the opportunity to train together – apart from fighting for their lives on the battlefield.

 

“I’ve figured out a lot of things, Master,” Ahsoka replied goodheartedly. “But I’m still tripping myself up performing this turn and I’d like to change that very much.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Anakin said.

 

Twenty minutes later he felt the first tingle of sweat covering his forehead. Ahsoka had gained so much combat experience she was more than able to hold him at bay with her lightsabers. He even suspected her to have already bested him at the jar’kai. He didn’t know how to feel about this.

 

“Getting tired, Master?” Ahsoka huffed, dodging a blow that came for her unprotected side.

 

“You wish,” Anakin laughed, jumping up and rolling to the side when Ahsoka mirrored his movement.

 

His laugh turned into a pained grimace when a lightsaber came down on his ankle.

 

“You just lost your foot,” Ahsoka said drily, evading his retaliating blow with ease.

Anakin suppressed a moan and lashed out, missing Ahsoka’s arm as she somersaulted away from him.

 

They chased each other through the hall, none giving in. Ahsoka made use of her dirtiest tricks but Anakin didn’t mind, being the one who taught her those in the first place.

Exchanging blows, they hurtled themselves from wall to wall, not ceasing their pace until they were both utterly drenched in sweat.

 

Finally, Anakin spotted an open and took full advantage, tagging Ahsoka’s shin and briefly touching her back with the training staff in his other hand when she fell down.

 

“All right, Master, you win, you win,” she winced, rolling on the floor and holding her leg.

 

“Of course I do,” Anakin replied, allowing his exhaustion to be audible. He hobbled a little to the side and sat down on the floor, panting slightly. The burn on his own ankle wasn’t that bad since their sabers were turned to practice mode. But finally the restless sleep on their freighter caught up to him in earnest.

 

Ahsoka got up and limped over, letting herself fall into a heap of limbs at his side.

 

“How was I?” she asked, rubbing her leg gingerly.

 

“You were really good,” Anakin replied, letting his pride seep through their Padawan bond. He felt Ahsoka relax into the praise, both spoken and unspoken.

 

He allowed himself to relax into the feeling as well, to forget for a little while about his standing within the Temple, about his aspirations and his woes.

 

“I could use some food that does not come from a wrapper,” he said, finally.

 

Ahsoka smirked. “Then let’s get you fed, Skyguy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I've been gone for a little while. Writing is hard, especially after being gone to work for 11 hours/day. I'm sorry for the delay but I can't help it. I'm too tired and wrung out to write in the evenings and the weekends are too short to get everything done. Adulting you guys. Sorry for the rant.


	10. Stagnate Ponds, Floating Leaves, Unknown Depths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon, back at it again.

Qui-Gon had been up and about when Anakin had pushed open the cabin door, had already packed his scarce parcel, ready to disembark. Anakin had slapped him on the shoulder in greeting – and plunged headfirst into a teasing fit for Falling Asleep While Meditating.

 

Qui-Gon had quirked up a tight smile at that and said nothing, which was always the best strategy to make Anakin grow tired of teasing, fast. He regretted not being able to join in the banter and getting a laugh out of an awkward situation, but the dream he’d had was still running in loops in his head and he didn’t know what to make of it at the moment.

 

At last Anakin did get tired of his tirade and waited for the doors to open alongside the rest of them. 

  
Waiting for the freighter’s door to open with everyone silently holding onto the handles around him made Qui-Gon a little uncomfortable and he sighed a breath of relieve as soon as a wave of fresh air seeped into the spacecraft when the gate opened, lifting the hair off his shoulders like a silent greeting of home.

 

Qui-Gon lingered on this thought for a moment before walking down after the rest of the little company but his ruminations were cut short when, upon hitting the walkway, Anakin was jumped by his enthusiastic Padawan. In a matter of seconds Ahsoka snatched him away from them and Qui-Gon watched them amble towards the Temple, feeling a rush of affection at both of them.

 

No matter how Anakin still lacked in diplomatic skills, Qui-Gon knew he’d always strive to do right by his own Padawan. Ahsoka had to face early on that her apprenticeship would be far different from the ones who’d come before her, and with Anakin’s help, she managed gracefully.

 

Qui-Gon felt a pang at the thought of how differently his own life had been at her age. Sure, his own Master had pushed him through a rough regimen of difficult missions and Qui-Gon had inadvertently done the same with his own Padawans along the way. But none of them, even at the worst and most dire times, had needed to grow into Jedi Knights with a galaxy-wide war raging over their heads.

 

Ahsoka, though, seemed to exceed expectations even within the order, thriving in the chaos that was the clone war and serving as a role model for those other unfortunate Padawans who had to share her fate.

 

At that moment, Qui-Gon, sensing the ache in his bones from their flight, envied her zest.  

 

The rest of their small party dissolved upon their arrival at the Coruscanti Temple, too, with everyone headed in different directions.

 

Qui-Gon, still too woozy to plan much ahead apart from getting back to his own quarters, found himself abandoned by almost every one of his fellow passengers besides their pilots preparing the freighter for his next flight.

 

He watched the clone Commander, after having bid his General goodbye, walk off in the direction of the clone quarters. Those were, quite fittingly, constructed midway between the Temple and the Senate Rotunda.

 

Obi-Wan himself vanished from sight almost immediately after, setting off towards the Temple behind Anakin and Ahsoka. If he’d uttered his farewell, Qui-Gon hadn’t caught it and therefore couldn’t return it.

 

He had been glad about not being forced to speak to his old apprentice before, but now his guts were churning with some degree of remorse. He tried to feed this turmoil to the Force but it left behind a feeling of unease that was much harder to shake. He needed someone to talk to, and badly, too.

 

Shouldering his bag, Qui-Gon strolled down towards the Temple himself, making up his mind to get rid of his satchel at the first opportunity. And, maybe, getting some proper tea for once, before his account of their mission would be called for by the Council.

 

He’d half-expected his crèche mate, Mace Windu, to comm him as soon as their freighter touched ground, but every passing minute without word from the Council minimized that possibility.

 

Therefore, he got to his quarters without difficulty, setting the kettle before even taking off his travelling cloak. His bag dealt with and after scrubbing his face in the ‘fresher the invigorating scent of his favorite blend filled the kitchen.

 

Qui-Gon sat down at the counter and let his face be warmed by the steam coming from his mug. His hands rested on the table on each side of his tea, and he breathed in the aroma in big gulps of air. Yet, the calmness he’d desired to get from this little exercise didn’t come. He tried once more to breathe deeply, centering himself within the Force, steadying his heartbeat.

 

It didn’t work.

 

Not hearing from Mace or having someone else demanding his report made him grow uneasy. Granted, it wasn’t unusual for the Council to take some time hearing his account, especially if the mission had been comparably uneventful. And Obi-Wan Kenobi’s own report was definitely more important than his own experience on Geonosis, unpleasant as it had unfortunately been.

 

But something chipped away at his attempts of serenity, and he couldn’t find the source of his agitation no matter how deeply he sought within himself.

 

Finally, his tea drained and his long overdue shower done with, he tried to comm Mace himself to see whether the Council was still in attendance. However, every attempt to contact Master Windu was cut short. Instead, the Kel Dor Padawan tasked with the Council’s communication system informed him that an extraordinary Council Meeting was taking place right at the moment. Nonetheless, he asked Qui-Gon to join Master Windu as soon as the Councilor was available.

 

Qui-Gon thanked the Padawan politely even as he felt his forehead crease. Something was up if Mace requested Qui-Gon’s attendance right after a Council Session like that, and before officially hearing Qui-Gon’s mission report.

 

His interest piqued like that, sitting back down wasn’t an option, so Qui-Gon wrapped himself into a clean cloak and left his quarters. As soon as he hit the elevator, a sense of urgency seized him. Cursing, he abandoned his plans to make a detour to the Gardens and headed straight to the Council’s level. Taking a shortcut through the Jedi Library, he went right up to the Council antechamber to await the end of the Session.

 

Some obstinate part of him entertained the idea to just rush in as suavely as he could but the look on the Mon Cal receptionist’s face told him such thing would not be met kindly. He was to sit on his hands until called upon, even though his senses remained on high alert, something he finally realized was triggered by a spike in his old crèche mate’s temper.

 

How the rest of the Temple couldn’t hear this was a marvel to him, but the two of them had been finely tuned to each other’s emotions ever since they were Younglings. What had been an asset on the few joint missions they’d had made a prolonged stay at the Temple uncomfortable at times, what with Mace so deeply entrenched in Council business that he sometimes needed to be coaxed out to get some fresh air.

 

Qui-Gon valued the man’s friendship, deeply. He also valued the fact that he’d never accepted a seat in the Council. The headaches he’d be left with would be debilitating.

 

Indeed, Mace Windu had more than once urged Qui-Gon to be a part of the Jedi Council. Had offered him a seat whenever there was a vacancy. Qui-Gon had declined, each and every time.

 

At first, it was out of protest at what he privately called the Council’s rabid hideboundness. More often than not he’d managed to transform what would have been a simple mission report into a shouting match on rules and principles. While that had seemed to amuse Master Yoda, both Qui-Gon and Mace Windu later wound up having to apologize in private for overstepping.

 

However, Qui-Gon found his own opinion was proven to be true more often than not, at least in recent memory. Instead of living by the Jedi Code only, the Council had always tended to decide in favor of the smallest denominator.

 

Or it took the other extreme and dismissed the younger Masters’ counsel in favor of the Grandmaster’s opinion.

 

Either way, the true purpose of the Jedi’s existence, something Qui-Gon sensed he was advocating for more often than not, was usually discarded for utilitarian reasons.

 

Ever since the beginning of the first skirmishes which had since developed into full-on war, his decision to not join the Council had been firmly cemented. The Jedi’s interference in the politics of the Galactic Republic was one of the more worrisome outcomes of the Council’s attitude, and more than once Qui-Gon had rallied against the Jedi’s subordination to the Senate’s decisions.

 

Even before the war had begun, Qui-Gon had been appalled to see exactly how deep the Jedi Council was entrenched in Galactic Republic politics, to see how much of the Council’s work had been woven into Galactic law.

 

In fact, he marveled at how much control the Senate had gained over the Jedi in the past, and how little the dangers of this development were acknowledged by both sides.

 

Qui-Gon, with another side glance at the Mon Cal at the desk, settled a few feet away from the Council Room door, the utter image of serenity and patience. On the inside, however, his mind was working fast.

 

While his own faith in the Council as a whole was shaky at best, both of his last Padawans had bowed to its wishes pretty much from the time they were both Knighted. But while Anakin seemed to take the Council’s orders as a necessary evil, Obi-Wan was a different case entirely.

 

Qui-Gon had never seen why Obi-Wan Kenobi had had so much trust in the Council in the first place, what his young apprentice had seen in it that Qui-Gon still failed to recognize.

 

Thus it had been no big surprise to him when he heard that Obi-Wan had accepted his seat in the Council as one of the youngest Jedi Masters ever appointed. Maybe, Qui-Gon mused, his former Padawan had hoped to introduce some more progressive views to the old Masters.

 

But it was a vague hope, at best.

 

And, as foreseen, Obi-Wan had settled, settled into the same views that, as he had heard Qui-Gon preach ever so often, were narrow-minded and out of touch with their own true calling.

 

Qui-Gon, back in the day when Obi-Wan was still his Padawan, had chalked their differences up to the dissimilar way they both connected to the Force. Qui-Gon tended to see the Force through every living thing, the Light it created at every second, its incredible potential to ground everything in the Here and the Now.

 

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, had developed his own views on the Force. To Obi-Wan, the Force was what connected everything to its potential throughout time, to what had become and to what would be.

 

When they’d sought out Yoda to hear his opinion on the matter, the old troll had only laughed and pointed them towards the two Schools of the Living and the Unifying Force. They’d learned that their metaphysical ramblings had touched a millennia-old discourse on what the Force originally was.

 

Obi-Wan had immediately immersed himself in the literature and, for a few weeks at least, their discussions were gratifyingly more theoretical in nature – instead of fraught with a fundamental disagreement.

 

That was, until they got their mission draft for the Naboo crisis.

 

Qui-Gon jolted himself back into the present when he heard the massive door screech. He straightened his back a bit, but it was only Master Adi Gallia, who had to leave the meeting early to tend to a crèche teaching duty. She nodded at him in passing, a curious look in her deep blue eyes despite her warm smile.

 

Qui-Gon wondered at that a little but decided he’d find out soon enough.

 

If he’d thought Master Gallia’s appearance might have heralded his pending entry, he was mistaken. It took almost another forty minutes of Qui-Gon doing his best not to shuffle under the eyes of the Mon Calamari receptionist until the doors finally opened for real and the Jedi Masters filed out of the Council Chambers in twos and threes.

 

Qui-Gon spotted Obi-Wan in a somewhat heated conversation with Plo Koon and Kit Fisto but his steps led him alongside Mace who’d fallen into his usual swift pace.

 

“So what was that all about, Mace?”

 

“So much for greeting an old friend properly, Qui-Gon Jinn”, the other Jedi huffed moodily but smiled as Qui-Gon patted his back apologetically. His initial smile fell a little as he looked back over his shoulder.

 

“If you care to come along to the Senate meeting with me, you will find out soon enough, crèchemate,” he sighed.

 

“The meeting will be right now?” Qui-Gon asked, perturbed.

 

Mace nodded gravely. “The call came as soon as Senator Bail Organa’s return to Coruscant was announced,” he said. “The Supreme Chancellor decided to catch two banthas with one net, so to speak. Both matters require the presence of the Jedi, and the next regular meeting isn’t scheduled until the next four days. So there’s that.

 

“Besides,” Mace added with a grimace, “Knight Skywalker’s reaction to Minister Rhezz Kryshin’s provocation caused quite a stir in the Council, too. I thought you should know.”

 

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to answer but was cut short by Mace’s dismissive gesture. “Now is not the time to talk about Skywalker’s habit of getting into trouble. Even though I have to say,” he added, waiting for Qui-Gon to enter the lift tht would take them to their transport, “many of your former Padawans seem to share in that trait in one way or another. Makes one wonder whom they take after.”

 

Mace wouldn’t elaborate any further, so Qui-Gon leant back in their vehicle when they took off, more than a little miffed at the playful criticism, and was lost in uneasy thoughts once more.

 

He shouldn’t have accepted Anakin as a mission partner to Geonosis. It had been clear ever since they’d met with their escort upon arrival. Qui-Gon silently chided himself for not instilling more diplomatic skills in his latest Padawan. Anakin had it in him, somewhere, Qui-Gon knew it. But his temper almost always got the better of him, still.

 

His eyes pointing outward but unaware of the passage of ships and speeders alike, Qui-Gon traced the beard on his chin with his fingers, brooding. If he had anticipated Anakin’s presence to be such a grievance to the Geonosians, he would have advised against his commitment.

 

That touched upon a thought he was loathe to admit to himself. Maybe he had to put it down to his own feelings of estrangement and loneliness. The role he had chosen to take with the war in full gear had put him into a position of isolation from most other Jedi, and it might have taken a bigger toll than he had previously anticipated. Wanting to work with his former apprentice again had been too alluring to decline.

 

He looked up at Mace’s inscrutable face and rubbed his thigh nervously. Whatever was to come, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say for myself. I had a bit of a stressful time, so a longer delay than usual. I'm sorry. I'm also sorry that there's not a lot going on in this short chapter, but i promise the next one will be wayy better.


	11. Confluence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rare visit to the Senate Dome ...

The Senate Hall was already packed with people when they arrived. As per usual, the Jedi – apart from Mace Windu and Qui-Gon Jinn there were Masters Plo Koon and Kit Fisto – took their seats at their appointed aisle, a little apart from the politician’s stalls but high up as to oversee the whole, spacy inner chamber of the Rotunda.

 

Chancellor Palpatine entered, his entourage of politicians as well as his aide Sly Moore not far behind him.

 

Qui-Gon studied the Chancellor as he steered his platform up to his usual position halfway up the Senate Hall’s hemisphere. He was sporting his usual bashful smile, marred by a peculiar look of worry that seemed plastered upon his face ever since he’d taken up the burden of his office.

 

Qui-Gon sympathized with that worry. Chancellor Palpatine’s tenure was fraught from the beginning, though it did enjoy some prosperous years when the threat of a schism was temporarily stalled.

 

But it had only been a brief respite before the Separatists had gained enough traction and the fragile union within the Galaxy was destroyed. The hardships and concerns that had followed hat edged themselves into the Chancellor’s face and had reformed his features into a mask of perpetual mild alarm, even while he was beaming, as he did now.

 

Palpatine opened the meeting with the usual greeting and a brief overview of their agenda. The first item, the report concerning the Geonosian disaster, did not come as a surprise to Qui-Gon, as the Senators had been roused prematurely for that particular reason.

 

The second, however, caught Qui-Gon’s attention: They were to discuss the further production and use of cloned troopers in the war.

 

Qui-Gon felt Mace Windu stiffen up next to him as he looked at the faces around them. Some looked anxious, others seemed to be full of gleeful anticipation. Most attendees, though, seemed just as perplexed as Qui-Gon himself, probably having assumed the second item on the agenda to be discussed at a much later date.

 

Qui-Gon struggled to make out the Naboo Senator Padmé Amidala’s face, almost hidden behind the tall figure of her friend and ally, Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan. She seemed vexed but not entirely unprepared. Their eyes met briefly as Organa stepped out of the way and onto a platform, getting ready to report on the incident on Geonosis.

 

Padmé gave Qui-Gon a meager smile while laying aside her notes.

 

He smiled back, as reassuringly as he could, before turning his attention to Organa again, who’d presently been bid to speak.

 

“Supreme Chancellor, esteemed fellow Senators, I have been asked to give an account of the proceedings at the signing of the peace treaty on Geonosis, which I hereby do.

 

“At the request of both the Senate and the Jedi Council, the signing was to be witnessed by both representatives of the Senate and delegates of the Jedi Order. I myself took the task upon myself alongside Senator Tyde Umargra, while the Jedi Council appointed Master Qui-Gon Jinn, who in turn was accompanied by Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker.”

 

A low mumble rolled over the ranks of Senates and many a head turned, not towards Qui-Gon Jinn, but to Padmé Amidala, née Naberrie. Her face remained calm and austere, as she stoically refused to acknowledge the attention of the people around her in any way.

 

The public interest was hardly a surprise to either the Senator or Qui-Gon himself. Ever since Padmé had announced her wedding to Jedi Skywalker, her decisions and her demeanor had been followed much more closely both by the Senate and the general public.

 

It was nothing that she hadn’t been prepared to endure, and she handled herself with a grace Qui-Gon could only congratulate her for.

 

On the other hand, Qui-Gon couldn’t blame people for their heightened curiosity. While he himself had approved of the bonding – it certainly had afforded Anakin a peace of mind previously unheard of –, other Jedi had been very outspoken against the relationship.

 

It had gotten so far Qui-Gon Jinn had to call an emergency Council Meeting and threaten to leave the Order, and take Anakin along with him, if they were not to sanction the marriage.

 

The Council conceded, eventually, though Padmé had to pledge to give their future offspring over to the crèche once they were old enough.

 

She balked, then, but only slightly. Once Qui-Gon had assured Padmé that their children would be cared for, and that the Jedi wouldn’t take them away from her care completely, she accepted.

 

In private, Qui-Gon had informed her, too, that the Council expected their children to be extremely attuned to the workings of the Force, since both parents had some degree of Force sensitivity.

 

To her credit, she didn’t even act surprised at the revelation. She confided that while her Midichlorian count hadn’t been determined at birth, she’d undergone the testing after she’d met Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan and later Anakin during her term as Queen of Naboo. It turned out that, while her count was a little lower than average, under different circumstances she would have been accepted in the crèche herself.

 

Qui-Gon wasn’t shocked at that, since he’d felt her quietly radiating power from the moment they had met. Thus, he only filed away that particular information to use it in case Anakin’s and Padmé’s marriage was attacked in the future.

 

After Anakin and Padmé had voiced their consent to the Council’s conditions, both parties seemed to be satisfied, and Anakin was virtually walking on clouds for the following months. Seeing the engaged couple happy had, in turn, filled Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn with a joy and pride he hadn’t felt in a long time.

 

Soon after the wedding, Anakin had stood his Trials and been appointed a Jedi Knight. Another braid had come off, and Anakin had gifted it to his wife, pearls and all.

 

Qui-Gon had, then and there, decided to abstain from taking on another apprentice, at least for some time. In his quieter moments he admitted to himself how tired he had become over the years. Having taught four Padawans and seeing three into Knighthood seemed enough for a lifetime, at least for a human one.

 

“… made mention of the second battle between the Republic and Geonosis at the festive dinner,” Senator Organa reported. Qui-Gon shook himself back into the present, eager to follow Bail Organa’s words more closely than before.

  
“It appears that the Geonosian officials were not pleased to find one of the central figures of this fight to be in attendance at the signing.”

 

Qui-Gon Jinn felt the urge to close his eyes at the Senate’s reprimand that was sure to come. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Senator Amidala shuffle in her seat, just as uncomfortable as he felt himself to be at the mention of Anakin’s involvement in diplomatic unpleasantness.

 

“… caused a bit of an commotion,” Organa continued. “I was able to divert any further harm by accompanying both Master Jinn and Knight Skywalker back to their ship.”

 

“But that’s not the end of the story,” the Mon Calamari Senator, Meena Tills, remarked. “Many of us got word about a larger dispute having been fought in Geonosian skies that same afternoon. Is that correct, Senator Organa?”

 

Qui-Gon wasn’t sure if he should thank Meena Tills for steering the Senate’s attention in another direction or curse her for it. Either way, one of his former Padawans got in the crosshairs.

 

“It is correct, Senator Tills, though I must say the location of that fight, from our point of view, was a mere coincidence,” Senator Organa replied.

 

A low muttering filled the auditorium for a few seconds.

 

“Please elaborate, Senator Organa,” Chancellor Palpatine requested from his turret, his calm voice still enough to silence everyone in the Hall.

 

“Perhaps it would be advisable to ask the Jedi General who was involved in the fight, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, for his account of what happened,” Bail Organa suggested with a slight bow to his side.

 

Qui-Gon turned his head to the newcomer who had appeared on Bail Organa’s side as he spoke.

 

General Kenobi had changed his clothes and at last washed the Geonosian dirt off his face, much as Qui-Gon had. Another swat of bacta had tended to his forehead, thus he looked almost uncannily tidy and well rested after what Qui-Gon had experienced to be a rough couple of days with too little sleep crammed in.

 

Chancellor Palpatine granted the General permission to speak to the Senate with a bow of his own.

 

“High Chancellor, Senators,” Kenobi addressed the auditorium, “thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak to you today. I am prepared to give a short account on what happened in Geonosian skies, and what happened prior that lead to that battle. I do believe the Senate has to be informed about the new strategy our enemies seem to be employing.”

  
Though Qui-Gon had heard some of the story earlier from the clone’s description, he leaned forward, eager to hear the kind of information the Jedi Council had elected to pass on officially.

 

And to hear it framed in General Kenobi’s words. He felt his fingers claw into the robes folding on his knees and let go, almost embarrassed over his show of nerves. Mace Windu and the other Jedi didn’t seem to have noticed, though. Their eyes were trained upon Obi-Wan, much like Qui-Gon’s own.

 

“When I was deployed on a mission to seek out alternative means of fuel, as the Senate has heard and signed off in one of its previous sessions, I encountered a difficulty in the shape of a Separatist battleship, the Soulless,” General Kenobi explained.

 

“That is General Grievous’ new ship, as Admiral Yularen advised?” Chancellor Palpatine interjected.

 

“That is correct, Chancellor,” Kenobi confirmed with a curt nod.

 

“The Soulless engaged my ship in a number of minor attacks. I chose not to get involved with the battleship just then, since our shields held the attacks at bay sufficiently, thus they meant no immediate harm to our ship.

 

“We soon learned, however – and to my grief – that the Separatists seem to have gotten their hands on previously classified Republic stealth technology. They were able to disperse a fleet of smaller ships all around the Forbearance without them appearing on our radar.”

 

For a few moments, the noise of hundreds of senators exclaiming drowned out Kenobi’s voice before Chancellor Palpatine called for order.

 

The hair on Qui-Gon’s forearms rose at the sound, as a mixture of outrage and confusion polluted the air around him.

 

“Tell us more about the stealth technique, Master Jedi,” the Kaminoan Senator, Halle Burtoni, demanded.

 

General Kenobi turned to Chancellor Palpatine for a second before answering, the movement noticed only by those who were looking for it. The quick exchange of looks did not escape Qui-Gon, deepening his feeling of unease.

 

“It is a technique developed by Republic engineers to move near enemy ships without appearing on their radars. Our side has used it exclusively – and successfully – in replenishment and rescue missions. The Separatists adopting this method for combat poses a severely serious threat.

 

“For my mission, it was disastrous.”

 

Listening to General Kenobi’s account of using hyperspeed technology to plough through the enemy ships and follow the Soulless left a bad taste in Qui-Gon’s mouth. It was a risky manoeuver, endangering not only his own ship but the countless clone troopers around it.

 

It was so unlike his old apprentice to abandon his airborne troopers in order to stay at the enemy’s heels it made Qui-Gon’s teeth ache. Back when he was still a youngling, Obi-Wan would have rather put himself in danger than desert those in need of his help.

 

But this, Qui-Gon brooded, was not the young, genial boy he used to train. This was a man of war, hardened, and undoubtedly exhausted, by what were now years of miasmic interstellar conflict.

 

_I think the Council is very sensible for not sending for the General at the moment. He’s doing more than his fair share of work in this war._

 

The words came to Qui-Gon, unbidden, an echo of what he’d told Anakin before departing towards Geonosis. Remembering how fast Obi-Wan had fallen asleep on their way back to Coruscant, they seemed almost prophetic.

 

“… waiting for us already,” he heard Kenobi recount as if through a thick fog. This time, it was harder to recover from his mental recourse, as if there was something deeper the Force was urging Qui-Gon to unearth.

 

He shook himself free from the memory, not wanting to miss the General’s testimony.

 

“It was, simply put, a quite elaborate trap,” he heard Kenobi continue.

 

“As I am sure most of you are informed already, they lured us directly into the Geonosian orbit where they orchestrated an attack that eventually led to the complete destruction of the Forbearance.”

 

“The fact that they chose the day of the Signing of the peace treaty to set up a fight between a Separatist and a Republican ship is more than telling,” Senator Organa interjected, stepping forward again.

 

“As we are all aware, Geonosis used to work closely with the Separatists in the past,” he continued. “While the Republic was able to severe that band between these former allies, witnessing the Forbearance’s defeat practically before their noses served as a symbolic reminder of what Geonosis left behind. It was, bluntly put, a demonstration of power.”

 

“For the Geonosians – and even more so for the Republic,” General Kenobi added. “The whole attack served the purpose of showing us that the Separatists will spare no means to beat us, and to beat us using our own technology against us.”

 

The mutter within the Hall rose again, but quelled by a gesture of Vice Chair Mas Amedda.

 

“How did you choose to deal with the diplomatic situation at hand, Senator Organa?” Senator Orn Free Taa inquired, side-eyeing Kenobi with a glint of interest in his eyes that made Qui-Gon squirm in his seat.

 

“While Master Jinn and Knight Skywalker accompanied General Kenobi back to Coruscant, I was able to defuse the Geonosian ire and to keep their immediate attention from what was going on outside the city for a while. However, a timely visit from Republic representatives to calm the waves would be more than sensible in my opinion,” Organa replied.

 

Qui-Gon kept his eyes on General Kenobi who had backed down from the pulpit after his report, and resumed his position in a nearby floater.

 

Meanwhile, the Supreme Chancellor called for a resolution to send Senator Organa and two other representatives back to Geonosis to resume the peace talks and to restore the diplomatic relations between the Republic and Geonosis.

 

The Senate approved, almost unanimously, and Qui-Gon caught sight of Bail Organa exchanging a quick glance with General Kenobi before bowing to accept the Senate’s order.

 

“This is settled, then, and I thank the Senate for this speedy decision,” Chancellor Palpatine nodded, satisfied.

 

“We are now turning upon the second item on today’s agenda: the bill on ordering a large contingent of clone troopers from Kamino. Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo shall be given the auditorium.”

 

Qui-Gon watched Senator Amidala rise gracefully and float her pulpit to the middle of the auditorium. Before she spoke, she glanced at the Senators in attendance intently.

 

“Supreme Chancellor, esteemed Senators,” she began. “As we are all aware, the bill CL978-E has been up for discussion ever since the Separatists have broken off the peace negotiations by orchestrating a series of attacks on the Republic.”

 

Qui-Gon remembered the scandal following the murder of Senator Mina Bonteri, member of the Separatist movement, vividly. The Separatists had plotted her death before openly blaming the Republic for her demise, thus ending all previous attempts for a peaceful solution of the conflict.

 

He himself, alongside Anakin, had helped unearth the true intentions of the Separatist regime before the new conflict could further fuel the war.

 

Ever since, the call for a reinforcement of war efforts had been intensified within the Republic Senate. Qui-Gon had attended a series of Senate meetings on that topic and had escorted a handful Senators in favor of the peaceful solutions to neutral planets, where they met with like-minded Separatist representatives.

 

At first, these missions had been carried by a hopeful outlook on the future, but lately their prospects were greatly dimmed by the war activities on both sides.

 

“… However, it is my deepest conviction that this war can and shall be ended at the negotiating tables rather than on the battlefields,” Senator Amidala stated.

 

Shouts erupted from the pulpits all over the auditorium. Qui-Gon watched as some Senators got to their feet, others shook their fists in disagreement. Padmé stood, unfazed by the clamor.

 

“Senators, please. Let Senator Amidala state her case” the Chancellor called.

 

“Thank you, High Chancellor,” Padmé nodded. “As we have all seen, the deregulation of the banks might have helped the Republic to enforce its troops, but the same can be said about the Separatists, probably even more so than in our case. The Separatist do not care about exploiting its member systems to achieve their purposes. We should not follow their lead in this.”

 

Another rush of voices flared up as Senator Mee Deechi of Umbara stood.

 

“So you would rather we be overcome by the Separatists just to keep the moral high ground?” he sneered.

 

“This is not an issue about any sort of moral high ground,” Bail Organa interjected, steering his floater so he came to a halt next to Padmé Amidala.

 

“But we cannot plunge the Republic into further debt when it is already cracking at the seams,” Organa continued. “Even if we haul another mass of credits to Kamino to acquire more clones – and then go on to win the war – what would be left of the Republic but a stump? A stump that’s further being gnawed on by the Banks?”

 

“The Banks will not be eating us away so easily if we agree upon installing a crisis fund, to be paid off slower than a conventional credit,” Mee Deechi suggested.

 

A part of the attendees cheered at this while others seemed more doubtful.

 

Bail Organa raised his palms to calm the Senators. “The solution you are proposing seems alright from the outside, Senator Deechi,” he said. “Recent inquiries, however, show that the Banks are already reacting to the war parties’ weakened positions. They raised their credit interests from ten to twenty-five percent. A raise that even the Separatists would be struggling to meet.”

 

The cheers subsided, leaving some of the senators gaping openly. Whispers could be heard from all directions. Qui-Gon felt his shoulders tense with the tempers around rising and hurried to tighten his shields.

 

“I think we should aim to end this war rather than further expand it,” Padmé resumed, taking her time to look around in the auditorium. Qui-Gon saw Senators Mon Mothma and Onaconda Farr smile at her reassuringly while others, like Senator Halle Burtoni of Kamino, returned her glance with a cold stare.

 

“There are still those among the Separatists who are ready to sit down at the same table with us and negotiate each other’s positions,” Padmé said, “and those among the Republic’s Senate who are willing to sit with them.”

 

“Traitors,” someone exclaimed, followed by shouts all over the aisles. Another uproar was quickly subdued by the Chancellor.

  
“How do you know this, Senator Amidala?” he inquired, a friendly smile on his face.

 

“Despite our obvious differences I have kept open a number of communication channels with moderate Separatists. The late Duchess of Mandalore has, in the past, helped us greatly by providing a neutral ground for our talks.”

 

Qui-Gon’s gaze found Obi-Wan, still in his pulpit. He had withdrawn into a half-shadow, stroking his beard while he seemed to contemplate what the Naboo senator had revealed. At the mention of Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore, Qui-Gon had detected a slight twitch of his frame, but in the dim light he might as well have imagined it.

 

“And what do those Moderates say, Senator?” the Chancellor asked, knitting his brows at another murmur in the lower rows.

  
“They say that their systems are suffering, High Chancellor,” Padmé replied simply. “On many planets, systems of social security benefits and healthcare already can’t be upheld properly. Things like health service, education, even the most basic needs like food, housing, infrastructure, cannot be met anymore.

 

“Senators, this is the outlook we will be facing in due time, should we decide to further indebt ourselves.”

 

“So how is it possible, then, Senator Amidala,” Senator Burtoni retorted, “that the Separatists just ordered another contingent of three million war droids from their suppliers?”

 

“How do you know this, Senator Burtono?” Senator Amidala asked, not quite able to hide her surprise, as the auditorium once more erupted in shouts.

 

“You have your sources, Senator, and I have mine,” was the quick retort.

 

Uproar ensued, with many Senators getting up from their seats and shouting either at the speakers or at each other.

 

Padmé looked taken aback, but quickly regained her composure within the turmoil. Qui-Gon watched her turn to Bail Organa as he whispered something in her ear.

 

“Senators, Senators, resume order!” the Chancellor called. “We have heard both sides of the argument, today as well as during past meetings. However, we have thus far failed to listen to a third party within these halls.

 

“Therefore, I again call upon General Kenobi, now in his position as leader of the 7th Sky Corps, to state the case of the Jedi in this.”

 

Qui-Gon couldn’t help but stare open-mouthed as Obi-Wan steered his floater to halt at a few feet’s distance from Senators Amidala and Organa, who glanced up to him in confusion.

 

The General stepped out from the shadow of his roofed pulpit and folded his arms as if to shield himself from the sudden attention.

 

“Supreme Chancellor, High Senate, I am honoured to be asked to speak to you today on this important matter,” he began. “I have heard all of your arguments and I find convincing cases on both sides – as, I assure you, does the Jedi Council.”

 

Mace Windu leaned forward next to Qui-Gon, mimicking his position as they both listened to the General’s statement.

 

“The Jedi have, as you all know, always strived to be keepers of peace. Therefore, a number of our Knights and Masters have taken it upon themselves to honour our vocation and serve as mediators for peace talks throughout the war.”

 

Qui-Gon felt himself bristle up at that. The mention of his own efforts seemed to be meant in praise, which surprised him. But the currents in the Force told him that something was off.

 

“However,” the General continued, “our bonds to the Republic have put us in a difficult position: should we keep to our purpose and let the Republic fend for itself, or should we abandon it and support the Republic against the Separatist onslaught?”

 

Qui-Gon found himself transfixed by Kenobi’s voice, mellow and soft as he was used to hearing almost every day in another life – but also with a hard undercurrent, testament to the years that had gotten between the Then and the Now. He hadn’t heard him speak often outside of the occasions Qui-Gon and he attended Council meetings at the same time, a thing that had become rarer by the month.

 

By some chance whenever Obi-Wan was expected back on Coruscant, Qui-Gon had been due on another mission off-planet. It had vexed him, it had irritated him, even made him suspicious. But that was before the impact of the wars had been felt even in the heart of the Republic and by then he had, somehow, understood.

 

Their separation had little to do with the obvious if inexplicable rift that had taken place between them, but the strain that had been put upon those who’d engaged in the conflict. Now, even Qui-Gon himself, who’d always been outspoken against the war, was zig-zagging the galaxy on behalf of the Senate – whether he liked it or not –, to meet with allies and appease systems threatening to join the other side.

 

Right now, Qui-Gon was baffled to hear his own broodings echoed by someone like General Kenobi, a man who had allowed himself to be caught up so deeply in the mess the schism had hurled the Galaxy into.

 

Qui-Gon had come to watch his old apprentice become blind towards the wrongness, the deplorable suffering the conflict caused and was still causing, on both sides. How he could stand there, in full view of the whole Senate, a symbol of power and fortitude, a crack in the mirror of what he’d once vowed as his true vocation. How he could choose to become fuel to the Republic war propaganda. He, who could once distinguish so clearly between what was good and right, and ethical, and what was bad, and wrong, and despicable.

 

Hearing Obi-Wan speak right now made his gears turn once again. Had he made a mistake in judgment? Had Obi-Wan not been so blind, after all?

 

But if he wasn’t, why would he consent to being used as a flagship in war propaganda, to being displayed by the huge banners on Coruscanti skyscrapers that shouted “Protect the Republic” and “Guarding the Galaxy” in big, bold letters?

 

Why would he agree to be advertised as a war hero, against a backdrop of rows and rows of cloned soldiers, banderoles reading “General Kenobi fights for the Republic”?

 

And why, Qui-Gon wanted to shout to whomever was listening, would the Council approve of all of this?

 

It made his skin crawl.

 

“But we have to ask ourselves, who is, ultimately, fighting this war?“ Kenobi was saying when Qui-Gon turned his attention back to him, needing more effort than ever to do so.

 

“I have heard this question often, on any mission I’ve ever been sent, by friends and foes alike. Who is fighting this war, for the Republic? The answer is, by a great margin, the Jedi, and cloned troopers.”

 

Qui-Gon stared.

 

“While many inhabitants of planets outside of Coruscant and its aligned systems are well fending for themselves, the big, trans-planetary battles are fought almost solely by the Republic’s forces: Us,” Kenobi continued.

 

“And this is possibly a good thing, too, for it means keeping the inhabitants of our allied planets as safe as they can be (even on war-ridden soils), not forcing them to leave their homes and their families to add to our numbers.”

 

Murmurs in the rows ebbed and flowed, but Kenobi managed to keep them from spilling over, simply by remaining calm and neutral, a direct contrast to Senator Amidala’s more passionate plea.

 

Qui-Gon couldn’t deny the cleverness in that approach. It didn’t mean he needed to like it much, though, either.

 

“To keep them and the whole Republic from further harm, I more than wholeheartedly agree with both Senator Amidala and Senator Organa, that an end to this war has to be our number one priority – and if we can achieve this aim by nonviolent means, so much the better. The Jedi will – as they always have – offer the help of their best mediators to support those entrusted with the task of diplomatic negotiations with the Separatists.”

 

Qui-Gon caught a glimpse of Senators Amidala and Organa exchange a look of surprise at that endorsement. It was clear they didn’t expect that kind of thing, either.

 

“However,” Kenobi said, “as we have heard today, the Separatists have ordered another contingent of highly powered war droids, and possibly more expensive technology as well. And herein, Senators, lies the trouble. While some Separatist members, like the late Mina Bonteri, are reaching out to their Republic counterparts to make an end to the conflict, the vast majority of the Separatist leadership is actively investing in weaponry, droids, and warships.

 

“Experience has shown that even in the most positive circumstances, negotiations can take a lot of time – time, that, under attack, the Republic’s troops will likely not have.”

 

Qui-Gon leaned forward to make out Senator Amidala’s reaction to that. It wasn’t a pleased one, he could gather from afar.

 

“Our ranks are shrinking, Senators, and at a fast rate,” Kenobi stated, his voice as ever free of emotion. “As you have been informed today, I lost a considerable portion of my battalion along with my ship.”

 

The callousness of the statement made Qui-Gon’s guts draw tight. He wasn’t prepared for Kenobi to voice it like that, matter-of-factly, remorseless. Poised.

 

“Across the galaxy, both our strength and our resources are dangerously waning. The question, Senators, is what do we hold against an enemy attack if all we have is words to fend for ourselves? As we can determine, the war cannot be negotiated on the battlefields that we face on a daily basis.

 

“Senators, I do not seek to undermine the labour of those who support a peaceful end to the war. In fact, personally I do strongly support their efforts. But I implore you to think most carefully about the next steps. Give us the chance to protect you while you strive for peaceful negotiations.”

 

With that, Kenobi bowed to the rows and rows of Senators, and the mutter rose once more.

  
“Thank you, General Kenobi,” the Chancellor concluded before his aide bowed down, whispering in his ear. He cleared his throat again before speaking.

 

“And thank you, Senators all, for your input in this matter. We shall take all of your positions into account for the next Meeting.

 

“Senators, Master Jedi, I have to hereby adjourn this session, because pressing matters have been reported to me presently. I do call upon all of you to think about what we have discussed today most carefully. Thank you all for attending this meeting.”

 

Qui-Gon blinked, perplexed, his confusion mirrored in the auditorium. Senator Amidala and Bail Organa vanished from view amidst their colleagues standing up, demanding an explanation.

 

Chancellor Palpatine, however, only bowed and steered his floater back to an exit. Qui-Gon turned around, the loud voices of arguing Senators ringing almost painfully in his ears.

 

He looked back up but found that General Kenobi had already left the auditorium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should wait a little while to update because there's still so much to write and it hasn't been done yet. I'm supposed to stretch it out a little so I can work out the rest of the story and not make you all wait so long for the updates... inner turmoil


	12. Erosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the steadiest rock will crack, one drop of water at a time.

He had waited until they’d all arrived in the safety of his office before going off.

“And what, dare I ask, where you thinking back there?” he barked, almost moaning in despair as he leant onto the edge of his desk.

Obi-Wan Kenobi studied him with an unreadable expression and seemed poised to just refuse to answer.

“We were literally this close to avert this blasted law from being approved by the Senate before you decided to just blow it all up in our faces again,” Bail barked, holding his fingers only millimeters apart before mimicking an explosion between his palms, accentuating his last words.

Just as Obi-Wan opened his mouth to retort the door opened, and he froze. Padmé Amidala strode in, ferociously pulling at her official headdress before setting it down on a chair as if it suddenly disgusted her.

“I hope you are very proud of yourself, Obi-Wan,” she sighed, settling on another seat and looking up at him darkly. “That’s just months and months of prodding, getting people to agree with us, literally surviving attempts on our lives, all gone to pieces.” She moved to bury her head in her hands but checked herself and instead looked down at the floor forlornly.

“As far as I understand, nothing has yet been approved by the Senate,” Obi-Wan suggested softly.

Bail swallowed a mouthful of acid. How this Jedi in front of him could stay so calm was way beyond him. He clearly did not see what was at stake here. 

“The decisions has merely been adjourned, Obi-Wan,” he replied. “And now, and with your help I daresay, our point has further lost the Senate’s favor.”

“Then keep campaigning,” came the Jedi’s answer. “Do whatever you have to do. But don’t expect me to clear your path for you when that means I have to go against my interests.”

“Your interests? Your interests?” This was ridiculous. Bail fumed. He threw his hands up at his friend’s apparent stubbornness. 

Obi-Wan watched him, his lips in a thin line, his arms crossed in front of his body. Seeing the composure of his friend could always drive Bail up a wall. It certainly did so, now.

“I thought it was in your best interests to help us end the war, Obi-Wan,” Padmé interrupted with forced calmness before Bail could say something he’d really regret. Instead, he turned his gaze and stared down at the city skyline for a few moments while he tried to calm himself down. 

He hadn’t been this upset with his old friend since they were both young men, back when he was a young official on Alderaan. Easy to rile up – but also easier to calm down. Back then, Obi-Wan had repeatedly disobeyed direct commands, and while Bail had granted that his actions had helped avert disaster, it had greatly endangered Organa’s standing as a prospective political leader.

He went round his desk and sat down on his chair, his chin on his hands, looking up at the Jedi who was still standing in front of them both.

“And you are right, Padmé,” Obi-Wan replied, presently. “It is indeed in my best interests to end the war.” His tone was unruffled, without a hint of impatience – which told Bail more than enough.

It was as if the Jedi was talking to children. 

“But I think the peace talks are going at too slow a pace to stop investing in new troopers, and weaponry, even in new technology,” Kenobi continued. “The enemy is doing exactly that, and worse, they are even using our own technology to boot us out, as you have learned today. They are adjusting and programming their new droids as we speak.”

„We cannot keep up our peace talks if the Republic is engaging in war activities,” Padmé retorted, shaking her head at Obi-Wan. “We will be losing what little credibility we have left with like-minded Separatists if we continue the armed conflict and the Republic ordering a new clone contingent would be seen as just that.”

“What’s even more pressing, now,” Bail spoke up, only barely not interrupting her, “is that increasing our debts with the Banks will mean the Republic’s undoing, both morally and financially. We put that strain on our economy and the Separatists won’t be needing to fell us on the battlefield. They’ll beat us in our own homes.”

“Homes that likely won’t even be there if there’s no one to protect them,” Obi-Wan countered. He sounded more agitated now, and the angry part of Bail purred at the now apparent loss of composure. 

“Who do you think will stand between you and the Separatists once the last available trooper has given out?” Kenobi asked, finally unclasping his arms.

Bail jolted up from his seat, unable to mask the hurt pride in his voice completely. 

“We can well fend for ourselves, Master Jedi!” he hissed.

Obi-Wan took a step back, as if taken aback by his old friend’s outburst.   
“No you can’t,” he said, quieter now than before, his forehead wrinkling up just slightly. “You barely see what’s in front of you. With all due respect, but when was the last time any of you two found yourselves on a battlefield?”

“Only two months ago, I was present at the siege of Mon Tana’arr,” Padmé retorted, a shadow passing over her face in memory. 

“And who helped the Tana’arr to overthrow their enemy? As far as I remember, Anakin and the 501st supported the locals, while Admiral Tarkin sent troops to strengthen their lines once Anakin’s men left.” 

“The Tana’arr stood well on their own, Obi-Wan.”

“Yes, they did. Until Count Dooku of Serenno decided to pay his visit.”

Padmé bit her lip, irritated.

“Listen, I am not saying that the Republic’s peoples are not willing and capable to fight,” Kenobi declared. “But it is my deepest concern that they stay on their own planets, to be able to defend themselves if the Republic’s troops are overwhelmed. We can’t bid people to leave their homes to help protect planets so foreign to them they might not even be aware of their existence.”

“You are derailing the conversation, Obi-Wan,” Bail said, trying his darndest to keep his voice professional. “This is not about the peoples fighting in the war, it’s about ending the war as whole, once and for all.”

“By talking,” Obi-Wan retorted, bitterness now crawling into his voice for the first time. Bail couldn’t help relishing in that.

“Yes, by talking,” he answered. “I thought you of all people, of all the Jedi, would understand that, Negotiator.” 

Obi-Wan lifted his chin at what Bail knew was a despised nickname.

“Trust me, Bail, I do. I do,” he confirmed. “But while you, senators and governors and sovereigns, are talking, in your palaces, in your well-heated, well-protected chambers, out there, somewhere above your heads, we are fighting. 

“We are dying,” he added quietly, lifting his head to look them in the eyes. When no one responded, his face hardened.

“You don’t even really care, do you?”

“Obi-Wan-“

“Have you even bothered to read the latest report the Jedi Council sent you?”

“Obi-Wan, we-“

“Hundreds and hundreds of Jedi dead since the beginning of the Clone Wars. Thousands upon thousands of dead clone troopers. You talk like you care about these deaths but you do not! 

“Your argument in the last few sessions was the cost to the Republic. You accused us Jedi to use the clones as cannon fodder in the past sessions, as I read in the Senate’s proceedings. Mere hours ago, I lost half of my crew, along with my ship, and if it weren’t for Admiral Yularen and his fleet – also manned by clone troopers, might I add – the losses would be multiplied. Which government would have sent help fast enough to keep us from certain death?” 

Obi-Wan regarded them, pallor battling a rush of blood to his cheeks, something that Bail had hardly seen with him. He felt his skin crawl at the sight.

“In one of the last Senate meetings I attended before today, you, Padmé, called for a reduction of the clones that are currently active in the war, in addition to put a full stop to clone production. 

“If that plan had been put into action, who would have been there to defend the Forbearance? Who would have stood with me upon the deck of a breaking ship? Troops from Naboo, Alderaan?”

Bail was silenced by that, as was Padmé, who chewed on her tongue, brows furrowed.

“You care about the deaths of your own people, and that is a noble thing to do. It means that you consider the costs of their lives not only to the economy of your home planets, but to their families.

“What you do not consider, however, is the price we Jedi pay, along with our troopers. Both the Jedi and the clones are fighting the wars of the Republic, for the Republic,” Kenobi fumed.

“Reducing the troops, now, at this crucial time, will only cause failure and defeat. Reducing them puts the Jedi in harm’s way, too. Of all people I thought you would care about this, too, Padmé.”

“I ask you to keep private matters out of this conversation, Obi-Wan,” Padmé replied through her teeth. 

“But this is a private matter. It is for me,” Obi-Wan said, tapping his chest for emphasis. 

“Without Anakin’s help, today as well as on countless other occasions, I would have been nothing but another funeral pyre in the Temple, another digit in a report that you Senators won’t even read.”

“We are reading the reports, Obi-Wan,” Bail interjected.

Obi-Wan looked up at him, a sudden tiredness passing over his eyes as he took a deep breath. 

“Then act like it.” 

He turned around. “I have to see to my men, Bail. Padmé.”

The door closed behind him, and for a while, they sat in silence. 

After a few heartbeats, Padmé began, “So much for hoping for the Jedi’s assistance.”

Bail sighed, rubbing his chin. “He did score a couple of good points, though, Padmé.”

His old friend passed a hand over her eyes, squeezing the bridge of her nose with her nimble fingers. 

“That, he did. And the fact that we understand where he comes from only further weakens our position,” she admitted.

Bail smiled at his young colleague. 

“Matters are not yet cut and dried in the Senate, Padmé. But a little reality check on the Jedi’s perspective was badly needed, it seems. We need to adjust our stance to what we just heard.” 

He looked up to where Obi-Wan had been standing, moments ago. “And we badly need to make amends with our old friend, right?”

Padmé gave him a quick, regretful glance. “Right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping you're still with me... I know I'm taking a long ass time here.


	13. Debriefing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank the Gods for small favors.

Cody was greeted by pats on his back and numerous drink invitations, the usual mumbo-jumbo offered by his brothers after the completion of a dangerous mission.

 

He declined the drinks but accepted an invitation to a seat and a cup of strong caff – the good stuff not the goo they were usually presented with on missions – with a small group of clones he knew from back on Kamino, as well as some friends from the 501st whom he hadn’t anticipated seeing on Coruscant.

 

 

“Hells, Fives, Stoke, what’s up?” he greeted them before falling onto his chair, finally feeling the weight of the past hours on him.

 

“Cheers, Cody,” Fives answered, briefly squeezing his shoulder. Hells and Stoke smiled at him sympathetically, but made no other mention of his situation. Cody sat with them, gratefully.

 

“What are you doing on Coruscant, anyway?” Cody asked, regarding the men on his table. “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere, well?” he asked, motioning vaguely upwards, indicating space.

 

“Nope,” Fives replied with a sigh signifying mild impatience. “We were supposed to be planet-bound until General Skywalker returned back from his mission on, well-“

 

“Want me to fetch you some grub, friend?” Hells offered, interjecting what would otherwise become awkward silence.

 

“Thanks, Hells, but no thank you. I think I’d just rather have my caff and maybe get some fresh air later,” Cody replied, grateful. But then, he ran out of things to say, with everything he could think of verging dangerously close on things he didn’t want to recount.

 

Ugh. There it was, now, the silence he’d feared. Everyone looked at him, waiting for him to break the story.

 

Finally, Stoke grew impatient.

 

“So, what happened, man?” he asked, earning a sharp look from Fives but shrugging it off. “I’m curious, pal, and so are you. So shut up, Fives. And Cody, stop shutting up.”

 

Finally, Cody shook his head, giving in.

 

“General Grievous is what happened,” he said, giving them a short account of the Forbearance’s fate leaving out the gritty and not quite managing to leave out the gritty.

 

“So that’s two thirds of my brothers, done for,” he concluded, a bitter grimace contorting his face. He downed his caff, briefly considering to drown himself in what was left in his cup.

 

“Less”, Fives interjected, making Cody look up from inspecting the little specks of caff bean residue.

 

“What?” he replied, confusedly taking in the little smile lighting up Fives’ face.

 

“Less, friend,” he heard Fives say.

 

“Admiral Yularen just came through with a message. I was glad to catch it myself. He was able to collect almost all of your airborne troopers, both before your fancy hyperspeed trip and then, many of them later, on Geonosis.”

 

Cody felt his spirits lift almost immediately. “Does the General know?”

 

“Far as I know he’s about to attend a Senate Meeting, so he couldn’t be told right away. Hey, hey, just sit down,” he added as Cody tried to jump to his feet again.

  
“He’ll be told soon as the Session is over, I’m sure. Just relax. Geez!”

 

Cody managed a laugh, his first real one in what felt an eternity. “Well, now I guess I’m hungry after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming closer to a necessary hiatus, but we're not here yet!! I hope I'll get to write more during the summer.


	14. Starburst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes there's calm before the storm. Sometimes, though, you have to actively seek it, in order to keep an even breath.

By the time they got word the Senate’s session had ended, Anakin had made his way to Padmé Amidala’s apartment, leaving Ahsoka to her own devices.

 

Ahsoka didn’t mind her Master spending every minute he could spare with his spouse. Force knew these moments were scarce and far in between. Ahsoka would have loved to just tag along, but the two of them deserved some privacy, and ultimately she had to admit to herself that she’d started hating being the third wheel.

  
So, at the moment she found herself at a loss what to do. Until Anakin and she were called back on mission duty, her time was pretty much hers. With most of her Padawan courses dealt with – hard enough since most of her studying was intercepted by these pesky space battles – the only remaining academic option was pretty unappealing at the moment. Ancient history wasn’t boring exactly. But with a war raging over their heads it was the last thing on everybody’s minds, which was the only reason she hadn’t already been quizzed in that particular topic.

 

She wandered the Temple and wondered at how vast and spacy it felt with so many Jedi gone on mission duty. When she’d been a youngling in the crèche, the halls had seemed to be teeming with life, Jedi being on the way to sparring training, headed to the library or getting ready to receive mission detail. Nowadays, only the oldest Jedi, the Temple healers and archivists or those awaiting their next assignment were present permanently. Even the members of the Council were gone regularly, with Masters like Mundi, Gallia, Koon, Kenobi, and Windu at the forefront.

 

Ahsoka herself hadn’t been planet-bound much since Anakin had apprenticed her, either. She wasn’t really fazed by that, but seeing the Temple so deserted was jarring nonetheless, a reminder of how much things had changed in the past years.

 

Despite so few Jedi remaining, there was a tension in the air that Ahsoka had difficulties to place. It was like something was about to happen, and it bugged her that she couldn’t trace out the undercurrent pervading the place.

 

It made her itchy.

 

Enough so that she decided to seek out the comfort of the rooms she shared with her Master. But even their place, kept dust-free by the maintenance droids, didn’t provide much solace. She hardly remembered a time where she slept in her own bed regularly.

 

Still, the pile of clean clothes left on the bed by one of the droids reminded her that she’d forgone one necessary post-training step earlier. And she wasn’t one for doing stuff half-assed.

 

Her clothes practically stuck to her sweat-drenched thighs. The ‘fresher wasn’t the most inviting place she could think of, but a shower was in order nonetheless.

 

Having drenched herself completely with the ‘fresher’s most unforgiving jets, Ahsoka sat down on her neatly made bed, letting the water drip from her lekku onto the carpet. Under different circumstances she would have sought out the 501st later and pass some time trading stories. But she knew that today this kind of banter wouldn’t be welcome. It wasn’t like there was no camaraderie between the Jedi and their troopers. In fact, they got along really well and had each other’s backs in battle. But still, there was something separating them from each other, and sometimes those boundaries had to be respected.

 

People had lost their lives today, and Ahsoka was willing to let the troopers grieve among themselves.

 

Finally, she toweled herself dry enough to put on some fresh clothes, and settled onto her training mat. At this time of day, she might have found another willing Jedi to spar with her in the training salle (despite there being so few in the Temple), but her leg still smarted from her earlier match against Anakin and she wasn’t up for another lightsaber burn just now.

 

She closed her eyes and let herself drift towards the Force, thoughts fleeting one by one. She enjoyed the feeling of sinking deeper and deeper into meditation, just enough awareness left to acknowledge the process. The tension in the air became lighter, then almost disappeared. Once she reached where she wanted to go for this particular exercise, alone with herself, and the Jedi around her distant sparks of Light, she rose back onto her feet. She lifted her leg, turning to her side, and performed a slow-motion kick to the side. Once her foot touched the ground again, her hands reached out towards her front, then wandered to the side in perfect unison.

 

She heard the Force humming into her ears as she continued her kata meditation. For a brief instant, her feet left the mat as she jumped, landing on her hands, legs kicking out. Her breath left her lungs just as easily as if she were resting. She reached behind her, her upper body slowly following the motions of her hands and arms.

 

Slowly but surely, Ahsoka raised the speed of her motions, gestures becoming abbreviated punches, moves that had looked like a dance becoming more pronounced. Every inch of her body remained perfectly under her control.

 

More and more, the blood started singing in her veins, the mediation an exercise as much as a celebration. She knew that if she kept speeding up like that, her motions would soon stop being discernible for a non-Jedi. She also knew, that the strain this would put on her body would be felt for days afterward. However gratifying, that kind of thing would be something she’d have to reserve for a time when the next mission wasn’t lurking over their collective heads like it did now.

 

So with a pang of regret she slowed back down again, motioning with fluent grace, jumping and turning in rhythm with her heartbeat. The final movements saw her relaxing down onto the mat again, not yet opening her eyes but feeling the ebb and flow of the Force within herself. Within a few minutes the tiredness would catch up with her. But for now she felt refreshed. For now, she felt at peace.

 

She stayed in that place of serenity for a few more gulps of air, a few more heartbeats, then bade her goodbye, the energies around her slowly coming up to the surface as if they’d been buried deep underwater. One by one, the lights surrounding her, each light a pulsing living being in the Temple, flickered on, thrumming in the Force.

 

But with each light there also came the feeling of apprehension, a daunting sensation she had no means to trace. It seemed to come from without the Temple, but finding resonance with the beings within. Ahsoka felt her forehead crease.

 

Whatever it was, it would make itself known.

 

Soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm supposed to map out part II of the series but it's so hotttt.... But the summer's coming and i hope i get some downtime and find the motivation, soon. But we're not at that point of the story yet, so that's a good thing, right?


	15. Spills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance encounter and missed opportunities. Overall heartache.

The Temple Gardens shone in the darkness of night that had begun to descend on Coruscant. The nocturnal flowers opened their petals, the blooms, actually foreign to the planet but preserved in the Temple, emitted a gentle light, and a soothing smell hung in the air.

 

Qui-Gon found himself in the last outskirts of the Garden, a place that he had once preferred to visit in difficult times when he was still a Padawan under Master Dooku, unsure of his place in the Universe and unable to find solace in the presence of his teacher.

 

He sat on a low bench and let his head fall backwards. Serenity was a long time coming this past couple of days. Seeing Obi-Wan back at the ball had shaken him out of his usual equilibrium, more so than he had dared to admit even to himself.

 

He felt the urgent need to clear his own mind and to get to a conclusion as to where he really stood with his old apprentice. As much as he resented the way he fared in this brutal war, he couldn’t help but be impressed by his steadfastness and his adroit reasoning back at the Senate meeting.

 

Qui-Gon opened his eyes wide, facing the stars, those he could see and those he could only imagine being up there, their light just drowned out by the brightly illuminated city below. 

 

He thought back to their days as Master and Padawan, to how close the two of them had been. He had always deemed their relationship to be somewhat special, somewhere above the usual intimacy that came almost naturally within a bond between a Master and their apprentice.

 

Once Qui-Gon had made his peace with his apprentice’s hotheadedness and obstinacy, they had fared incredibly well, virtually to a point where the two of them easily complemented each other.

 

Obi-Wan had learned to keep his stubbornness in check, and in turn Qui-Gon had accepted the fact that _his_ way of doing things was not necessarily the best way to do them.

Under his helm, Obi-Wan had thrived, had become a cunning negotiator, as well as a fierce if guarded fighter.

 

Together, they had made a team the Council relied on for the hardest missions the Galaxy could throw at them.

 

Qui-Gon sunk even lower on his seat as he reminded the way he and Obi-Wan had protected each other, kept almost no room between them whenever a hostile entity ganged up on their hide. He could almost feel Obi-Wan’s presence next to him as it was back then, a small but unwavering source of light, a pressure to the side of his body as they used to fight together, in sync, always ready to jump in whenever the other wavered.

 

Even off missions, sparring had become their second favorite pastime, right after playing Dejarik and philosophizing together.

 

Obi-Wan had even adopted his own strategies to overcome the advantage that his towering height afforded Qui-Gon in hand-to-hand combat. More often than not, he had used his legs (almost as deadly as his sabers, Qui-Gon used to quip) to fell Qui-Gon, and, once on the ground, overpower him with one grab handle technique or another.

 

It was at those times, Qui-Gon remembered, reluctantly, that a somewhat different emotion had begun to threaten to overpower the pride that he felt for his Padawan.

 

Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around himself against the nightly chill emerging from the ground.

 

Perhaps meditating about this now, consciously and deliberately, might help clear the fog in his head over his feelings for his ex-Padawan, he mused. Certainly, the thoughts wouldn’t be forced away so easily now, anyway.

 

Thus, Qui-Gon steeled himself against the chill and closed his eyes.

 

The first time he had felt this characteristic tugging at his guts had been only a few years before Obi-Wan’s Knighting, if he remembered correctly.

 

Through some mishap, they’d been captured by a group of scavenging Uugteen pirates and winded up gagged and bound in the stowage of some rusty old space shuttle.

 

The pirates had made short work of the two of them, just threw them down into the rubble as they were, not caring about how two grown men would fit in the narrow space.

 

Obi-Wan’s back ended up pressing into Qui-Gon’s side, his feet perched uncomfortably behind Qui-Gon’s nape. In spite of their undignified situation, Quo-Gon had felt a distinct heat building deep inside his belly and flushing up to his cheeks at the sensation of Obi-Wan’s strong calves underneath him.

 

At first he had been able to keep his thoughts together by making himself remember Tahl. Remember, how he had once vowed to never let anyone get as close to him as she had been before she’d died on the ugly piece of rock that was New Apsolon.

 

For a little while, it had worked.

 

But then Obi-Wan had started squirming beneath him, his back arching into his body, and Qui-Gon couldn’t help but-

 

“I did not expect to find you here, Master.”

 

Qui-Gon opened his eyes abruptly and shot upright in his seat only to find the one Obi-Wan Kenobi, his cloak draped around him, looking down at him with unreadable eyes.

 

“I’m sorry if I interrupted you, Master. I shall find another place to meditate,” he said softly, half turning and looking back at the path he had come from with a slight frown.

 

“No, no, Obi-Wan. Do not worry. You haven’t interrupted me at all,” Qui-Gon replied, feeling sheepish but managing to keep up his calm and serene façade in the presence of his old Padawan, the very one he’d just let himself daydream about.

 

“I’m glad,” Obi-Wan answered, looking relieved, “To find you here, I mean. I haven’t really gotten around to say thank you for saving my hide.”

 

“You don’t have to, Obi-Wan.”

 

“Except that I do, Master.” Obi-Wan smiled hesitantly. “So accept my gratitude, please. It won’t be going anywhere.”

 

Somehow, Qui-Gon didn’t find it in him to smile back at his old apprentice so he just looked at him impassively. With pain in his heart and cursing himself he watched Obi-Wan’s face fall a little.

 

“Anyway. I bid you a pleasant night, Master Jinn. I shall not trouble you any further.”

 

He turned around again when Qui-Gon stood.

 

“Walk with me, Obi-Wan.”

 

As if the years in separation had not happened at all, his and Obi-Wan’s steps soon fell into their habitual rhythm, Obi-Wan keeping up with his long strides while staying a half-pace behind in deference to Qui-Gon’s – once – higher rank.

 

Qui-Gon studied Obi-Wan’s face from the corner of his eyes. In the light of the Temple Gardens it looked as if he had aged years in the few hours between the Senate meeting and now. He looked incredibly worn, like he hadn’t been sleeping in weeks.

 

Which, when Qui-Gon thought about it, was probably true.

 

Whatever it was that troubled him presently, though, Obi-Wan kept it to himself and Qui-Gon did not butt in, for now.

 

Instead he said, “I saw you back at Chancellor Palpatine’s ball. You seemed worried, somehow.”

  
Obi-Wan looked up at him. “I remember seeing you, too, and thinking the same thing.”

 

Qui-Gon smiled to himself. This was Obi-Wan Kenobi, alright, adept at reflecting the question back at the inquirer, using even the simplest words to shield himself from unwelcome intrusion.

 

“Oh, I was only trying to sneak off the premises inconspicuously enough not to ruffle any feathers,” Qui-Gon huffed, his laughter sounding a little too cheerful, too loud, even to his own ears.

 

Obi-Wan did not join in, only smiled and nodded his head at that, and remained silent.

 

After a few moments Qui-Gon added, “You seemed in a hurry to leave, too. I saw you being collected by one of your clones.”

 

He felt Obi-Wan stiffen beside him before the younger man answered. “Yes. Commander Cody informed me that the 212th was to be dispatched on a new mission before morning. I had been asked to leave immediately.”

 

“The mission seeking alternative power sources you were talking about earlier today?” Qui-Gon asked, feeling a suspicious stab as he remembered Obi-Wan’s speech in front of the Senate.

 

Something was amiss here, and Qui-Gon did not like it.

 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan answered after a pause, but did not elaborate.

 

Qui-Gon swallowed. His disapproval, something that he’d never had the chance to voice towards his former Padawan, washed over him like nausea. He felt his heart quicken as a sudden wave of irritation threatened to undo his calm front.

 

Still, despite Qui-Gon’s attempt at shielding it, Obi-Wan seemed to feel felt the clouds thicken.

 

He pulled his cloak closer to himself, his lean body almost vanishing beneath the folds of cloth.

 

That small gesture only served to anger Qui-Gon further, seeing that the years of separation had done nothing to Obi-Wan’s sense of Qui-Gon’s emotions, while Obi-Wan’s own intentions remained only oddly vague to him, diffuse, and hardly perceptible at all.

 

“How come you do not trust even your oldest friend, Obi-Wan,” he asked, masking his voice in a calm he did not really feel. Obi-Wan was on it instantly, of course, looking up at his old master cautiously.

 

“I do not know what you are talking about, Master,” he said, coating the assertion in a harmless smile whose dangers Qui-Gon knew pretty intimately.

 

“You hide out there in the dark when the rest of the Temple is preparing to get to rest,” Qui-Gon said, almost physically feeling the restraint in Obi-Wan’s face as to not raise an eyebrow at the obvious irony. Qui-Gon smiled at the thought, despite himself. He had talked himself into a corner like an Initiate, a rookie mistake he hadn’t committed in years. They walked for some minutes in truce, almost akin to companionable silence.

 

“Whenever I see you on Coruscant,” Qui-Gon began again when they reached a junction in the path, “– which has not been very often – you keep to yourself. I have to say I am astounded about that.

 

“Even at Council meetings you barely speak to your fellow Jedi. The only one I see you talking to regularly is your shadow.”

 

That drew a chuckle. Obi-Wan looked at him, his smile almost as wide as it used to be years ago, in the face of something that must have sounded to him like a bad metaphor.

 

“My shadow?”

 

Qui-Gon froze inwardly but smirked broadly as to play over his lapse. Again.

 

“Master?” Obi-Wan frowned ever so slightly.

 

“I am sorry, Obi-Wan. I seem to have grown a little too fond of my nickname for your clone.”

 

The smile on Obi-Wan’s face vanished instantly.

 

“My clone.” He tasted the word like something foul. “Is that what people are calling him, now? _My_ clone?”

 

“Obi-Wan-“

 

“What do you want me to say to that, Master?” Obi-Wan retorted, testily. “I’d thought you, of all people, would be respectful of their existence, sympathetic even-“

 

“It was a joke, Obi-Wan.”

 

“A joke, to call a close friend of mine _my shadow_?”

 

“A close friend?” Qui-Gon looked at him, incredulous. “Obi-Wan, you are a Jedi, a Master of the Jedi Council. Yet you surround yourself with soldiers, and admirals. You’re holding a position in that war unworthy of a-“

 

“Unworthy of what?” Obi-Wan abruptly halted his steps.

 

Qui-Gon paused, stopping in his tracks too. His anger, previously subdued by the enjoyment of verbal sparring sorely missed, flared up once more at the sight of Obi-Wan’s own. It surprised him how much contempt he seemed to have held for his old apprentice.

 

He looked down upon Obi-Wan who held his gaze, his mouth a thin line hidden beneath that unfamiliar beard of his. Qui-Gon watched the tendons in Obi-Wan’s neck tighten, felt a similar sensation in his own body, like a mirror image.

 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, both a red flag and a challenge in his voice.

 

“Unworthy of what, Master Jinn?”

 

That, the use of his name and title in such an obstinate way, from someone once so close, was what ultimately undid him.

 

“Unworthy of your rightful place as a keeper of peace, as a mediator in a conflict, unworthy of your true calling as a Jedi!” Qui-Gon snapped, almost helpless against the onslaught of emotion from deep within his guts.

 

Obi-Wan lowered his voice. “It is well within my duty to the Jedi and to the Republic to –“

 

Qui-Gon had quite enough, then. The words just spilled, like so much water.

 

“To what, Obi-Wan? To march through the galaxy with flying colors? To call for arms in front of the Senate and wreak havoc upon all those once peaceful systems? To destroy entire worlds just by pressing a colorful button or two? To employ mercenaries to do your blood work? These are not the deeds of a Jedi, Obi-Wan. What you’re doing, that’s the work of a-“

 

He paused.  It had gotten too far. But Obi-Wan wouldn’t let him stop there. Like he knew he wouldn’t.

 

“A what?” Obi-Wan challenged, his voice strangely coarse, his head tilted to the side ever so slightly, waiting.

 

“A careerist, Obi-Wan! A ruthless, warmongering careerist!” Qui-Gon spat out, both glad and mortified that the words had finally left his mouth.

 

Obi-Wan looked as if he’d been backhanded. All color drained from his face.

 

“You don’t mean that,” he said, almost inaudibly hollow, his gaze vacant.

 

“You’ve yet to prove me wrong, young one,” Qui-Gon replied solemnly.

 

Obi-Wan blinked, then looked back up at his old Master. Qui-Gon could see his own reflection in Obi-Wan’s eyes, large from shock.

 

In them, he looked calm and austere, where in truth he was far from both. Force knew what kept his chest from heaving heavily under the strain of years and years of disdain towards the man who was once his Padawan.

 

When Obi-Wan seemed to come to his senses, he shook his head with a half-smile that did nothing to restore his youthful façade.

 

He opened his mouth once more, but then the fight just seemed to go out of him and his shoulders slumped down. He sighed inaudibly.

 

“Good night, Master.”

 

Qui-Gon stared at him as he turned on his heels and ambled back the way they came from.

 

He was left alone, once more, within the outskirts of the Temple Gardens.

 

In the deep night, the flowers’ perspirations turned the air sour. He had to breathe through his mouth to keep from gagging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys don't hate me by now ...


	16. Kindling the Flame and Watching the Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A calm before the storm.

Anakin watched her intently as she stood by the balustrade, looking out at the city while carefully untangling her curls with a soft brush.

 

It was a nightly miracle he thanked the gods to be granted to witness. He leant to the doorframe, smiling at the gentle motions she was fully engaged in, her brow slightly furrowed, but otherwise emitting calmness and serenity, always his anchor as well as his wings.

 

“Stop staring so poetically and come over here, darling,” she whispered, flashing him a teasing smirk over her shoulder.

 

He laughed at that and pushed himself off the doorframe.

 

She always had an infallible sense of his thoughts; and whenever they threatened to become too heavy, she’d tease them out with a smile, an embrace, and a kiss. Anakin was grateful for that, and always more than ready to return the favor whenever Padmé was bent double with Senate issues or other worries.

 

He went over to her and pulled her to himself. “You’re getting more beautiful every day.”

 

She laughed and pushed him far enough away to tweak his nose playfully. “Only because I love you so much.”

 

He regarded her heart-shaped face, the curls around it still in disarray and pointing in every direction.

 

He put a bent finger under her chin, tenderly pulling her face upwards to his own. They kissed, in bright view of the nightly cityscape, playfully on his, soothingly on her side. It was she who pulled away again, but only to embrace Anakin more tightly, resting her head under his chin with a soft sigh.

 

Anakin felt a slight discomfort as he stroked her hair, holding her close to himself. He placed a kiss on her head.

 

“What’s wrong, darling?”  


Padmé shook her head slightly. “It is nothing, love. A bit of a qualm, nothing else. Today’s session has gone a little bit wobbly.”

 

“Tell me about it?” Anakin resumed to stroke her hair, not wanting to press the matter if she was unwilling to talk.

 

Still, he’d rather she got it off her chest. They both knew she’d sleep better if she confided in him.

 

She smiled a little and offered him her mouth for another quick kiss.

 

“Well, it seems the Jedi Council shares your thoughts about the clone reduction. Don’t get me started,” she added, seeing Anakin open his mouth to retort. She sighed.

 

They’d had this conversation before, and neither had succeeded in winning over their spouse’s opinion. Their viewpoints were just too different. In the past, the issue had caused more than a few spats between them, and Anakin suppressed a groan, expecting to have another argument on his hands.

 

Tonight, though, she surprised him.

 

“I see it more clearly now, Anakin. It seems I have closed my eyes to the effect the Loyalists’ plans might have on the populace. Obi-Wan cleared that up for us a bit, today.”

 

“Obi-Wan spoke in front of the Senate, on political matters?” Anakin huffed. “That must have been a shit show.”

 

“It was,” Padmé replied, burying her face in his chest once more, kissing him right above the heart. “He talked circles around us, love. My head’s still spinning whenever I think about it.”

 

“Seems it’s been quite a ride,” Anakin mused, nuzzling his nose in Padmé’s wild locks trying to sooth her.

 

“It was,” she repeated. She managed a smile. “I’d say he beat us around the head quite a bit, in a completely non-violent way of course.”

 

“Sounds like him,” Anakin replied. Even though that must have been a worthy sight indeed, he was glad he’d chosen not to attend the Senate meeting after all. What with having enough on his plate already, and with a frail peace with Geonosis further endangered, and all that.

 

Padmé breathed in his scent, her chest heaving and her body calming down, but grew still after a little while.

 

“Padmé?”

 

She shook her head and looked up at him.

 

“It seems Bail and I have pushed a few too many buttons with Obi-Wan after the Session. I feel we need to make amends rather sooner than later, preferably before he vanishes for another few months off-planet.”

 

Anakin stroked her cheeks and forehead, managing to smoothen the creases there a little bit.

 

“I’m sure he understands where your concerns came from,” he offered, but now it was his time to frown.

 

That the Council resorted to Obi-Wan as their spokesperson at the Senate spoke volumes, though. They usually sent Master Windu, who was less accessible through his higher rank within the Council – but also less canny with words, if only slightly.

 

He pushed the thoughts away from him. It wouldn’t do, further worrying Padmé when she was already all the way engrossed in her concerns.

 

“How about we invite him over for tea tomorrow afternoon,” Anakin suggested. “I’m sure having a good night’s sleep over the matter will have helped you both see clearer about it all. And tea’s a great diffusor of grave topics and personal qualms, Qui-Gon always says – though I’m sure he’s using much more eloquent terms.”

 

Padmé laughed at that and smacked his shoulder playfully.

 

“I think that is an excellent idea. And now enough of all that nonsense,” she purred, tugging possessively at his collar.

 

The kiss they shared couldn’t have been any more different to the ones they’d had before. She held onto him with one arm, the other wrapped around his head, her hand buried in his hair. His hands wandered down to her hips, creasing her dress as he carefully tugged at her skin.

 

They broke their kiss only to catch a ragged breath before locking lips once more. He bent her backwards as far as he dared while he explored her exquisite mouth, her jaw, her ivory collarbone-

 

“I’m not interrupting something, am I?” came an amused voice from the door.

 

Anakin sighed in the nape of Padmé’s neck before carefully straightening her up and letting her step back.

 

Ahsoka stood in the doorway, one of Anakin’s travelling coats hung upon her arm. Despite her humorous tone she looked stern and focused.

 

“Something’s happened. I’m sorry, Padmé, but,” she tossed the coat at Anakin who caught it, barely,

 

“I’ve got to give your husband a lift to the Temple.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh you guys. When I walked home today I had the nicest chapter in my head (for Part II), wording and all. But I've been a bit unwell the whole day so the first thing I did when I came home was faceplant onto the bed. And now I'm struggling to get the most basic sentences out of my brain and into my story. I'm frustrated.   
> Ugh.  
> Anyways, as I've been saying the last few chapters, Part I is coming to a close real soon and I hope I can spend some of my time off to come up with ... something better than what I wrote today. Please don't be mad if I take a little while. Writing in the evenings after working eight hours and commuting three hours is just... It's not happening. Or at least not very satisfactory like


	17. A Push beyond the Surf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... in which things start getting pear-shaped yet again.

Mace Windu had elected to accompany him to the hangar personally.

 

“You look tired,” he said, a worried smile on his face.   


“Thanks for being diplomatic,” Qui-Gon huffed as he hoisted his baggage higher on his shoulder, aware of the blue marks under his eyes. It had been meant in jest but Mace didn’t laugh. The gravity of the situation weighed him down, Qui-Gon saw it in his gait and mourned for the zesty Haruun Kal Jedi his friend used to be. Losing Depa Billaba to Darkness was the last straw that fixated the now permanent frown upon Mace’s brow.

 

Presently, though, Mace looked worried about Qui-Gon Jinn, and that wasn’t remotely acceptable. Not with other matters that were more important.

 

The Force around them reverberated with a discordant hum. Qui-Gon knew his own face still echoed the shell-shock that had come over him at the news, as did Mace’s.

 

Chancellor Sheev Palpatine had been reported missing by his aide, Mas Amedda, with accounts of an unauthorized ship leaving Coruscant’s atmosphere in a hurry. The Jedi had been alerted immediately, but no one could estimate for how long the Chancellor had been gone.

 

It hadn’t taken long for the Temple specialists to identify the vessel, however, and Qui-Gon’s stomach still churned from the revelation.

 

It had been the Invisible Hand. Count Dooku’s ship.

 

Qui-Gon felt the iron grip that had settled on his heart with another pang. He’d known of his old Master’s siding with the Confederacy, had lived through his secession from the Order. He’d read the reports about his war exploits with a soul reeling.

 

But this blatancy was entirely new.

 

Their bond had never been overtly joyous, his apprenticeship wrought with misunderstanding, both willful and unintended. After Qui-Gon’s Knighting, however, they had reached a sort of peaceful truce, and Qui-Gon had enjoyed Dooku’s pieces of advice, seldom as they were. Until Dooku abandoned the order, that was. Until he sided with the Separatists, negating everything he had once sworn to protect.

 

Until he had gone after the Jedi.

 

Dooku had done everything to make Qui-Gon despise this still lingering presence of his old Master within him, had tried to separate the Jedi his Master used to be from the man he now was. He thought he’d succeeded.

 

Qui-Gon hadn’t expected Dooku’s deeds to still bear enough poison to hurt him from afar.

 

Mace shook him out of his silence.

 

“Well? Talk about it?”

 

“I didn’t get too much sleep tonight before our mission briefing”, Qui-Gon sighed, trying to evade Mace’s query.

 

At Mace’s arched eyebrows, Qui-Gon added, “well, if I’m honest, none whatsoever.”

 

Mace looked at him expectantly, pointedly setting aside concerns about the mission Qui-Gon was preparing to embark on.

 

Qui-Gon sighed inwardly. He’d rather not talked about Yan Dooku, or about his own nightly row with Obi-Wan. But he knew his lifelong friend wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily, and talking about his old Padawan seemed to be less of a minefield than his old Master at the moment.

 

Besides, it might temporarily distract him from the operation at hand, until it was inevitable.

 

“I had a little dispute with Obi-Wan a few hours ago,” Qui-Gon said, not meeting Mace’s gaze.

 

“You did?” Mace sounded mildly surprised.

 

“Yes, well… We met in the Gardens, only by chance. He thanked me for helping him back on Geonosis.”  


“How very rude of him,” Mace quipped, his eyebrows rising again while he looked at Qui-Gon quizzically.

 

Qui-Gon hadn’t noticed the sour tone in his own voice. He shook his head, intending to better control his temper with Mace.

 

“It’s not that,” he replied. “Things got a bit … heated, I’d say.” He arched his shoulders a bit and let them fall again.

 

“Elaborate.”

 

“I brought up his position in the war,” Qui-Gon admitted. “He did not react the way I might’ve expected.”  


Mace was silent as they approached their destination, patiently waiting for Qui-Gon to sort through his thoughts.

 

Qui-Gon mused for a while as the hangar came into closer view, already crawling with preparations. The commotion made his head spin so he averted his gaze.

 

Then, making up his mind, he said, “I don’t understand it, Mace. They call him a talented orator, nicknamed him the Negotiator, and for that you gave him a seat at the Council. And yet, I couldn’t detect any of that famed skill when we talked yesterday.”

 

Mace sighed, shaking his head ever so slightly.

 

“Qui-Gon, what made you think he wanted to negotiate?”

 

Qui-Gon’s mouth fell open at that. He had to force it closed as they arrived at the ship’s gangway.

 

Two clone troopers halted in front of them, saluting.

 

“Welcome to the Foreskin, General, Master!” one of them said.

 

Qui-Gon felt his eyebrows rise high. The other clone soldier poked his companion in the side with his armored elbow as Qui-Gon glanced at Mace incredulously, temporarily yet absolutely lost for words.

 

“Did you really just mess up the ship’s name in front of two Jedi Masters, trooper?” the second clone said, his voice shaking noticeably.

 

“Oh, kriff, I- I mean I- I am sorry, Master Jinn, General Windu,” the clone stuttered, while the other clone seemed hard pressed to not roar with laughter.

 

“Points for creativity, Waxer,” came a voice from behind the Jedi. Qui-Gon turned around to see the very one General Kenobi, chest plate and all, striding towards them with a guarded smile.

 

“Last time, I heard you call the new ship _Foreplay_. It got better.”

 

“I’m sorry, General Kenobi!” Waxer gasped. Both troopers saluted to their General and left as they were dismissed, the second barely managing not to cackle outright while still in earshot of the Jedi.

 

“Welcome to the Foresight, Master Windu, Master Jinn,” Kenobi said, pointedly avoiding Qui-Gon’s eyes as he smiled back at the retreating troopers.

 

“I’d thought you were prone to choose another _F_ then, Obi-Wan?” Mace chuckled, tactfully ignoring the trooper mishap they’d just witnessed.

 

“What can I say? I prefer the F-series, Mace,” Kenobi replied, his eyes squinting with repressed humor.

 

“Higher atmospheric altitude, more effective shields,” Mace suggested.

 

“With a compact frame throughout,” Kenobi finished, gesturing towards the ship’s hull.

 

Qui-Gon felt himself space out during their little to-and-fro, taking in the last pre-flight preparations.

Somewhere in the back, Anakin and his Padawan Ahsoka appeared to be discussing the mission.

 

“Master Jinn, you will be flying with Anakin, I presume?” Kenobi asked presently as Qui-Gon handed his bag to an approaching trooper.

 

“Yes,” he replied, feeling Kenobi’s eyes on his back like a solid edge while avoiding his glance in turn.

 

“Then Ahsoka will come with me. She’ll be leading the squadron once we’re close enough, while Master Jinn, Anakin and I are boarding the Invisible Hand,” Obi-Wan said, recanting the rest of the operation plan for Mace’s benefit with quick precision.

 

“Good luck,” Mace told them with a stern glare. “Bring him home, safely, and may the force be with all of you.”

 

“And with you, Master,” Kenobi answered for them both.

 

Once Mace had left them, Kenobi turned on his heels, barking a few commands to his troopers.

 

Qui-Gon bowed his head slightly, before heading towards Anakin’s space freighter, nicknamed _Menace_ , of all things, after Anakin had managed to defend the Naboo system from a Separatist attack with it.

 

Qui-Gon sighed as he saw the vicious glint in Anakin’s eyes when he drew closer.

 

“We’ll do fine, young one,” he said gently after smiling at Ahsoka in greeting. “If Count Dooku had hurt the Chancellor by now, he’d have made sure we knew all about it.”

 

“I hope you’re right, Master,” Anakin replied, the look in his eyes softening ever so slightly.

_So do I_ , Qui-Gon thought to himself, as he watched Ahsoka strolling towards the Foresight’s gangway.

_So do I._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I hate writer's block with the fierceness of a dying star.


	18. Wuthering Seas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a bad feeling about this.

They found the Invisible Hand not far out from Coruscant, lurking above a mass of smaller convoying ships.

 

Anakin stooped down in his fighter to let Qui-Gon climb into the seat behind him.

 

“Ready to ruin the paint job a little?” he huffed at his old Master.

 

Qui-Gon made a noncommittal sound as he tried to fold himself into the narrow passenger space. R2-D2 beeped up at him encouragingly as Anakin revved up the engines.

 

Taking part in such a large retrieval mission was not something he’d been prepared to do. It was on the Senate’s insistence and the Council’s bidding that Qui-Gon had joined Obi-Wan’s and Anakin’s team.

 

He felt his guts churn. Between participating in his first space battle in years and the prospect of meeting Count Dooku, he wasn’t sure which was less desirable.

 

Anakin flipped the last few switches and they shot out of the ship’s hangar to be met with a space fleet gathering between the Foresight and the Menace.

 

“Hiya, Master!” Ahsoka greeted Anakin with a smirk audible trough the speakers, “You’re late.”

 

“Duty report, Ahsoka,” Anakin replied, only just reigning in his own broad smile.

 

“Whole squad airborne and ready,” came her cheery answer. “And there’s Master Kenobi,” she announced as a larger spaceship, one just like their own only painted in red instead of high yellow, sped forward and took its place right next to Anakin’s and Qui-Gon’s vessel.

 

“All set and ready,” came his voice through the speakers and Qui-Gon’s stomach lurched. Under different circumstances he would actually have much preferred to fly with Obi-Wan, whom he remembered to be an ardent but less audacious pilot than Anakin Skywalker.

 

“Who’s late again?” Qui-Gon heard Anakin whisper under his breath, a glint of mirth in his voice, before he turned the speakers back on.

 

“Alright everyone,” Anakin transmitted. “Ahsoka, you and your troopers protect us from outside attackers. But be careful, the Invisible Hand looks to be crawling with vulture droids.”

 

“Oh I see, Master, this is going to be easy, then” Ahsoka chirped.

  
“Watch out for any other hidden attackers, too. They might be closer than you anticipate,” Obi-Wan transmitted. “We shall need you once we reach Dooku’s ship to blow out their defense shields.”

 

“Once you’re there, keep firing at their shields and once you’re done with that, move on to their power units. We don’t want these bastards to take us for a merry ride,” Anakin added.

 

“Understood, Master Kenobi, Master Skywalker,” Ahsoka replied, finally sobered up enough to keep the cheer out of her voice.

 

As if on cue, the first vulture droids engaged them in harsh blaster fire.

 

“Oddball, Chubbs, you and your men are coming with me,” Obi-Wan shouted, veering to the right, followed by a number of trooper vessels.

 

“Okay then, here we go. Ready, Master?” Anakin huffed just before he shot forward, leaving no time for Qui-Gon to actually reply.

 

Qui-Gon’s bowels squirmed unhappily once more at the sight of droid ship after droid ship seemingly forming a sheer impenetrable wall.

 

Within seconds they were engulfed in a mess of ships, blaster bolts and exploding droids. Qui-Gon’s head swiveled around to take it all in. He was considerably younger when he last took part in space battle that might compare to their current war, and the new technologies engaged made it seem as if he’d never even seen one before.

 

He craned his neck to look for Obi-Wan’s ship zooming past. Obi-Wan kept close to Anakin and him, while occasionally peeling off to avoid collisions.

 

“Just like in the good old days,” Anakin laughed into the speaker.

 

“You mean, more like just a week ago?” Obi-Wan answered, an amused glint in his voice that could easily match Anakin’s own. The companionable banter between them made Qui-Gon’s heart constrict.

 

“More or less,” Anakin replied, swerving sharply, only narrowly missing a trooper vessel and causing Qui-Gon to stub his nose on the front seat. “Sorry, Master!”

 

The Invisible Hand came nearer and nearer as the fight thickened. Obi-Wan peeled away once again, to get a clearer view of his followers.

 

“Ready to split up, Oddball?” Obi-Wan shouted. No one replied.

 

“Oddball?-”

 

“They’re right behind me, General,” the clone answered, after a pause. Qui-Gon heard Anakin release a sharp breath.

 

“I can’t seem to shake them!”

 

“I’m gonna help them out!” Anakin shouted, but was halted by Obi-Wan.

 

“They’re doing their job so we can do ours. Ahsoka?”  


“Yes, Master?”

 

“Get some troopers down to us, let’s show them some,” Obi-Wan ordered, followed by a swift “Yessir” by Ahsoka and some of the clones Qui-Gon couldn’t identify.

 

“Now we’re talking,” Anakin murmured, engaging a mass of vultures and shooting them down with an efficiency even Qui-Gon’s taste for subtlety had to acknowledge.

 

Suddenly, a thick crowd of enemy vessels appeared in front of them.

 

“We’ve got to split up, Anakin!” Obi-Wan bellowed.

 

“Right-“ Anakin replied, then, under his breath, “Artoo, get ready.”

 

“Nothing too fancy, Anakin,” Obi-Wan cautioned, when his own droid, an R4 unit, snapped into maneuver mode, steering his ship along Anakin’s in a narrow upward spiral.

 

Qui-Gon felt his pulse pound in his throat as he could spot Obi-Wan within his vessel, just above Anakin and himself.

_Flying is for droids_ , he thought to himself, fighting down the nausea building in his guts, only to find Obi-Wan in agreement as the Jedi muttered almost inaudibly under his breath.

 

Anakin just laughed as he heard it.

 

“Come on, Obi-Wan, this is fun.”

 

“No it’s – watch out!”

 

It was too late. Their vessels rattled ominously and a black mass started to darken their vision.

 

“Buzz droids,” Anakin rasped dryly.

 

“Now _there’s_ some fun,” Obi-Wan panted, interrupted by a sharp cry.

 

“Arfour, watch out-,“ but it was too late.

 

Something bumped off Anakin’s ship and Qui-Gon could spot an Astromech’s head meekly tumbling off into space.

 

“Ouch,” Anakin hissed through his teeth, his own droid beeping with sympathy.

 

“Seems we have a problem here, Anakin,” came Obi-Wan’s voice again, lower and hard to make out through static noise.

 

“Those buzzers are shutting down all of my controls.”

 

“I’ll get them off of you.”

 

“Forget it, Anakin. See to the mission. Get to the Chancellor. I’m running out of tricks here.”

 

Anakin shook his head and turned his ship sideways as to target Obi-Wan’s vessel.

 

“Anakin, what are you doing?” Qui-Gon panted as a thin line of blaster fire crackled on Obi-Wan’s ship.

 

“Hold the fire, Anakin, you’re not helping here,” Obi-Wan shouted.

 

“I agree, bad idea,” Anakin huffed, veering into a horizontal position again.

 

“Cockpit’s fogging,” Obi-Wan announced. “Get out of there, Anakin, there’s nothing more you can do here.”

 

The finality in Obi-Wan’s voice made his heart miss a beat. He knew that tone-

 

Qui-Gon pressed his palms to the duraglass screen separating him from space in a vain attempt to get a clearer view. Indeed Obi-Wan’s cockpit had turned a greyish white, leaving the pilot within almost totally invisible.

 

“I’m not leaving without you,” Anakin shouted back, anger bleeding into his words. He steered his ship closer to Obi-Wan’s, managing to shove off some of the buzzer droids but getting himself infested in the process.

 

They were now dangerously close to the Invisible Hand, a huge black bulk of a control ship, that seemed suddenly turned upside down as Anakin maneuvered both his own and Obi-Wan’s vessel into a tight spiral.

 

“Trying to shake them off won’t work on those,” Obi-Wan called. “Artoo, try and hit those buzzers’ center eyes.”

 

R2-D2 obliged, sending a fierce lightning bolt straight into the nearest buzz droid’s red middle eye. It fell off the ship in seconds.

 

“Good job, pal,” Anakin commended, relieve stealing in his voice as he was echoed by Obi-Wan, who cheered at R2-D2 raking out the buzzers one by one.

 

Qui-Gon felt his seat rattle underneath him as Anakin’s engines tried to make up for carrying two vessels instead of just one.

 

“The hangar doors are in sight,” Anakin shouted. “We’re almost in position.”

 

“The ship’s shields are still up, you noticed that, right, Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan thrummed through the speakers.

 

“Sorry, Master Kenobi. We’re on it,” Ahsoka replied, sounding a little out of breath.

 

“There!”

 

Qui-Gon watched as, in a few seconds time, the Invisible Hand’s defense shields shut down. Just as he wanted to breathe out in relief, the control ship’s hangar doors started to close up.

 

Both Anakin and Obi-Wan sped closer and closer to the ever narrowing gap.

 

“Oh I have a bad feeling about this,” Qui-Gon heard Obi-Wan mutter as the shadows of the hangar doors descended upon them.

 

Qui-Gon set his jaw, ready for impact.

 

“Whoa!” Anakin cried.

 

As Qui-Gon opened his eyes again, he was almost blinded by the hangar’s bright lights.

 

Obi-Wan had gotten in first, his ship’s controls finally giving out completely. The vessel skidded across the floor uncontrollably, producing electric sparks as it slid over durasteel.

 

Obi-Wan made short work of it. He bounded out before the ship crashed into the walls, saber turned on and already engaging in a fight against the first bout of attacking battle droids.

 

Anakin managed to halt his ship more elegantly than that. Qui-Gon followed him off the vessel, trailed closely by R2-D2. Anakin sent him towards one of the control panels located in the hangar.

 

“Go find the Chancellor’s position, Artoo”, Anakin told the droid.

 

Meanwhile, Qui-Gon relieved Obi-Wan of some of his assailants. Together, they managed to dispose of the droids quickly. Qui-Gon couldn’t help appreciating the feel of them fighting together, yesterday’s dispute forgotten.

 

It took only a few quick blows for him to observe the change his old apprentice’s technique had gone through in the past years. Obi-Wan seemed less ferocious, less flashy, had adjusted to his own shorter build rather than working to overcome the disadvantage in trying to mirror Qui-Gon. He was deadly either way. Qui-Gon could appreciate that.

 

The air in the hangar reeled with the stink of burnt plastic and scorched metal. Somewhere in the back, R2-D2 chirped at Anakin.

 

“He’s got the Chancellor.”

 

With Anakin’s help, they cut their way through their attackers. Once they’d sent the remains of the last battle droids into the nearest walls, they ran towards R2-D2.

 

“He’s in the observation platform at the top of that spire,” Obi-Wan pointed out at the hologram the droid showed them.

 

Qui-Gon’s head snapped back as if pulled by an invisible string. The motion was accompanied by a feeling not unlike a punch in the stomach, sickening. It almost made him gag in response.

 

“I sense Count Dooku,” he spat out, breathless.

 

“I sense a trap,” Anakin replied, his face darkening with recognition.

 

“What do we do?” Qui-Gon asked, still reeling from the unexpected blow of feeling his old Master so close.  


“Spring the trap,” Obi-Wan said, a feral smile on his face Qui-Gon hadn’t seen in almost a decade. It made his head squirm, trying to avoid thoughts of the Theed Palace, and what had become of both of them afterwards.

 

“You stay with the ship, Artoo. Make sure we have something to get away on,” Anakin commanded as Obi-Wan passed his communicator to the droid.

 

R2-D2 hummed his approval and made a beeline for Anakin’s ship. Qui-Gon saw R2 take shelter behind it, hidden from anyone who might unexpectedly enter the hangar.

 

They hurried towards the elevators as a huge clash made the ship tremble.

  
“Ahsoka seems to make good work of the power engines,” Anakin said, when something stirred sharply behind them.

 

“Destroyers,” Obi-Wan hissed, turned around and deflected blaster bolts.

 

Anakin came to his help, leaving the task to call the elevator to their mutual Master.

 

Qui-Gon felt his fingers tremble as he attempted to hit the right buttons. Sensing Dooku had made him jumpier than he’d expected, and he had to try more than once to call the elevator to the right floor. The three of them jumped in as soon as the doors finally opened.

 

The sight of two dozen battle droids inside the narrow enclave made Qui-Gon’s eyes twitch ever so slightly. That wasn’t exactly what he’d been hoping for.

 

“Drop the weapons,” one of the droids rasped, engaging them with a blaster. Anakin and Obi-Wan raised their sabers, pushing back their Master with their shoulders as one body, purposely bracketing him between them and the doors.

 

Qui-Gon bit back a complaint. There wasn’t enough room for all three of them to raise their sabers, and their maneuver had left Qui-Gon in charge of the elevator’s buttons again.

 

He thought quickly and, instead of sending them upwards, he let the elevator drop a few storeys as quickly as he dared. The sudden movement caught some droids off guard, and they stumbled over, hitting others as they fell.

 

It didn’t really have the desired effect, because now the droids still standing had enough leeway to raise a second blaster at their foe. He bit back a curse, instead opting for one of his weaker puns.

 

“Out of the pod race, and right into space battle,” Qui-Gon muttered. Anakin and Obi-Wan shared a silent, bemused look.

 

“Ready?” Anakin asked, raising his lightsaber a little higher.

 

“Born so,” Obi-Wan replied, dryly.

 

Between them, they managed to direct the blaster bolts into the crowd of droids. Half of them were down before they’d even stepped forward to hack into their ranks.

 

It was a work of seconds, and neither Obi-Wan nor Anakin seemed to spare a single thought of worry about the danger they’d been in.

 

It was fine, Qui-Gon could worry about them both. Ever since he’d sensed Count Dooku’s presence in the ship, a looming unease had settled in his chest. He did his best to dispel it into the Force but some shadow remained, just out of reach, deep in his heart.

 

Suddenly, the elevator stopped.

 

“Wasn’t me”, Qui-Gon mumbled as both Anakin and Obi-Wan eyed him questioningly. And it hadn’t been him. The buttons still showed their destination point, still a few storeys ahead, but nothing he did made the elevator move again.

 

“It’s fine, I know a way out,” Anakin said and turned on his lightsaber.

 

“We don’t want to get out, we want to get moving,” Obi-Wan argued, as Anakin was already done burning a hole in the elevator roof. With a last smile at Qui-Gon, he jumped upwards and out.

 

“Always on the move,” Obi-Wan sighed under his breath. His gaze met Qui-Gon’s. Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows, opened his mouth to argue, but a sudden clash overhead interrupted him.

 

“Are you okay there?” Qui-Gon called, his heart pounding uncomfortably fast.

 

 _I’m okay_ , Anakin sent through their bond. _Just got a little company._

 

Well, that wasn’t reassuring at all, Qui-Gon mused, but Anakin could handle it. There wasn’t a hint of nervousness in their bond, and Qui-Gon took heart from the fact that Anakin could walk into battle in perfect calm.       

 

Suddenly, and without warning, their elevator shot upwards again and they were showered with droid parts, as Anakin jumped back into the capsule.

 

“Nice of you to join us again,” Obi-Wan huffed. Anakin dusted rust and ashes off his coat.

 

“Got held up,” he murmured.         

 

“We’re almost there,” Qui-Gon informed them as soon he felt his guts lurch forward in a painful thrust again. Dooku was near, and the thought drowned out all other concerns.

 

Once again, Anakin and Obi-Wan took their positions in front of Qui-Gon, sabers raised and ready to defend themselves and their Master, should anyone attack.

 

To their surprise, the observation deck was empty when they arrived, save for a man sitting at the control panel. His arms were force-cuffed tightly to the chair.

 

“Chancellor,” Anakin cried. They hurried over to the man, keeping close in case they’d be ambushed.

 

Once there, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan bowed in a gesture of reverence, but Anakin stepped right up to Palpatine and put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Qui-Gon studied the Chancellor. He hadn’t had all that much opportunity so see the man up close, lately – even back at the Chancellor’s ball he had been but a figure in the limelight, too far away and far too engaged in talks with various Senators to speak with Qui-Gon. Palpatine looked, as ever, old, and worn, but not unpleasantly so. Yet his face was smitten with whatever he’d been subjected to under Dooku’s hands.

 

Palpatine was set to reply, but his face grew white even as Qui-Gon felt the now all too familiar wobble in his stomach. The Chancellor need not have said it – he already knew.

 

“Dooku.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part I will be closing soon. And I should really get back to writing you guys...


	19. Red in the Water

They turned around as one body. For a moment, Qui-Gon’s vision narrowed. He had only eyes for his old Master, the one who’d chaperoned his becoming a Knight, who’d overseen his training.

 

Who’d made him into a Jedi.

 

His face must have shown the multitude of feelings towards this man, because Dooku shot him a glance especially meant for him. His dark eyes sought to rummage in his very soul, and Qui-Gon was quick to build his defenses against the intrusion. Dooku smiled.

 

“Qui-Gon Jinn. You are a welcome sight in dire times”, he mocked. “A welcome sight, indeed, old apprentice.”

 

After sending him another look filled to the brim with pretend-pleasantness, he let his eyes wander over his visitors.

 

“And you brought the Negotiator with you! Welcome, Master Kenobi. I was sure we’d soon meet again.” His smile widened.

 

_Kenobi_. Ever since their first missions together as Master and apprentice, Qui-Gon had noted their enemies delight in saying Obi-Wan’s name, slurring it out to almost obscene lengths.

 

Dooku, it turned out, was no exception, Qui-Gon was quick to observe. He let the name roll of his tongue like a delicious fruit.

 

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, did not react to the greeting, only held Dooku’s gaze with a firm expression, unblinking.

 

“You took your Chosen One with you, too, Qui-Gon”, Dooku continued, real pleasure mixing into the mockery now. “Why, I _am_ fortunate to meet you again, Anakin Skywalker.”

  
Anakin scowled at the man who’d, back on Geonosis, robbed him of a limb. But he, too, remained silent. Only the working of his jaw betrayed his agitation. Dooku bit into another grin.

 

“Three generations of Jedi, what a rare occasion”, Dooku continued, encompassing them all with a look in his eyes that came close to glee. He and his armed guards commenced down the stairs at a dignified pace.

 

“And I’m sure Padawan Tano isn’t too far away, either. What does that feel like, Master Kenobi?” he asked, staring at Obi-Wan in an almost pitying way. “Always the Padawan, never the teacher.”

 

“Good grief, you managed to hurt all three of my feelings”, Obi-Wan replied deadpan. Qui-Gon’s guts echoed with Dooku’s roaring laughter when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

 

Obi-Wan raised his lightsaber as soon as Dooku’s feet touched the ground.

 

“This time, we will all do it together, Anakin”, Qui-Gon heard him whisper. “No more solo runs.”

 

“I was about to say that”, came the reply, too cheerful to be genuine.

 

Qui-Gon almost frowned at their teasing. Gods, but they both chose to be cheeky at the most dangerous moments.

 

Dooku, on the other hand, seemed to revel in their banter. He laughed at them, playfully calling his own lightsaber into his hands.

 

“Get help, he’s no match for you!” Palpatine yelled behind them. Obi-Wan half-turned, giving the Chancellor a quick smile. “Chancellor Palpatine, Sith Lords are our specialty.”

 

Dooku laughed again at that, drawing nearer and reaching out with his right hand, a false sincerity in his voice.

 

“Your swords. We don’t want to make a mess of things in front of the Chancellor”, he drawled.

 

“You won’t get away this time, Count Dooku!” Anakin hissed. Qui-Gon sent a calming thought through their bond, only to be met with intense fury. He took a step back towards the Chancellor, almost shocked out of composure.

 

_Take care of Palpatine_ , Anakin sent. _Let me and Obi-Wan deal with this._

 

Before Qui-Gon had the chance to answer, Dooku was upon Anakin in a flash. Their lightsabers clashed furiously. Obi-Wan jumped in and together, they both managed to keep him at bay, if only by a narrow margin.

 

Qui-Gon used the diversion and made quick work of the Force cuffs and, helping the Chancellor to his feet, tried to keep track on the fighters’ movements at the same time. A startled cry caught his attention.

 

He turned around to see Obi-Wan dangling three feet above the ground, held by the neck by Dooku’s Force grip. A quick flick of Dooku’s wrist and Obi-Wan crashed down on top of a control panel, a low groan escaping his lips.

 

Qui-Gon resisted the impulse to get to his old Padawan and focused instead on the task of getting the Chancellor to safety. Dooku’s armed droids quickly closed in on them and he hacked one down with his saber, pushing another away using the Force.

 

In the meantime, Obi-Wan recovered from the blow and rejoined Anakin in the fight. Qui-Gon only dared to glance at them in-between droid attacks. To his wary eyes, it seemed the three of them were dancing.

 

Alone, neither Obi-Wan nor Anakin would have been much of a match to Qui-Gon’s old Master, but together they might stand a chance, or so he hoped. He kept the Chancellor close behind him, set on shielding him from blaster shots. Still, the droids crept up on them from all sides, and he had to swirl around the Chancellor in order to divert blaster bolts.

 

Once more, Obi-Wan was caught in Dooku’s force grip. He winced, ever so slightly, which caused Dooku to grin manically mid-fight. Qui-Gon’s heart staggered at the softness of the sound, and he stared up at the fighters, momentarily distracted.

 

Dooku tossed the shorter man away like a discarded puppet. Obi-Wan hit a wall, his head snapping back with a sharp cry.

 

“Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon shouted, hearing his cry echoed by Anakin. Dooku laughed, delighted.

 

“I sense great fear in you, young Skywalker! Fear for the ones you love, for those you look up to. But more importantly, you have hate, you have anger, but you don’t use them to your advantage!”

 

Anakin grit his teeth at that, showering Dooku with a series of swift blows, only to be shaken off once again.

 

As if it were nothing to him, Dooku pushed Anakin away, sending him clashing against an instrument panel. Anakin screamed.

 

Qui-Gon felt it too, and it made his blood run cold. He sensed the pain through their Padawan bond, like it was his own. Something was broken within Anakin. Something important.

 

Immediately, Qui-Gon attempted to send soothing energy quickly and was answered by a grateful tug through their bond.

 

Suddenly, almost without the two of them noticing, Obi-Wan was upon Dooku again, their lightsabers almost too fast to see.

 

Obi-Wan grit his teeth now, too, and Qui-Gon felt an unsettling sense of déjà-vu, as if he’d witnessed something like that fury in Obi-Wan once before. He could spot a small rivulet of blood tainting his former apprentice’s collar and swallowed against a lump suddenly forming in his throat.

 

Dooku was caught momentarily by surprise at the sudden ambush, but recovered quickly.

 

He ducked under Obi-Wan’s blow and came from behind the shorter man, seeking entrance beneath his opponent’s lightsaber.

 

Obi-Wan was quick to deflect the attack, turning around himself, and he managed to push the Count off him a little to gain more air.

 

Dooku returned speedily.

 

Qui-Gon could feel that Anakin needed a little more time to recover from the damage he’d suffered. He wouldn’t be able to rejoin the fight, and it looked like Obi-Wan would soon be out of the game, too.

 

Qui-Gon peeled his eyes from Obi-Wan’s fierce snarl and moved forward to, finally, engage in the fight with Dooku himself, but Obi-Wan shot him a forbidding look.

 

“Go get the Chancellor _off of this ship_!” he barked at him.

 

Qui-Gon felt the sting of rejection and was thoroughly taken aback by the direct command of a ranking officer, but nonetheless obeyed it swiftly.

 

He returned to the Chancellor and led him through the deck, keeping a safe distance to the lightsaber fight. All the while, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the opponents.

 

Count Dooku seemed to acknowledge his attention. It made his smile turn from manic to sardonic.

 

“So, what does that feel like, my own Qui-Gon”, he drawled conversationally, deflecting Obi-Wan’s attacks with utter ease.

 

“Seeing Padawan after Padawan fail against me?”

  
“They haven’t yet failed me”, Qui-Gon shot back. He could see Obi-Wan’s eyes widen at his reply.

 

“And yet they’re no match against me, even together”, Dooku retorted, seemingly enjoying his former apprentice’s conversation all the while fighting Obi-Wan with growing effortlessness.

 

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan’s defenses weaken, surprised to find traces of their old bond intact. Even after all these years apart, he could find Obi-Wan’s Force signature where he once thought it lost.

 

He plunged through without thinking. The sudden realignment shot his balances immediately, the equilibrium he’d only just managed to gain back.

 

Tentatively, not letting Dooku out of his sight, he felt his way deeper into his old bond with Obi-Wan, trying to stabilize it and himself along with it.

 

Obi-Wan let him, apparently too distracted at the moment to let the foreign intrusion bother him.

 

When Qui-Gon discovered the feel of tears and splintered bones in Obi-Wan’s body, it was all he could do not to wince.

 

He had expected to find traces of hurt, of bruises from the fight he’d witnessed, but what he found within was much more than Obi-Wan had let on.

 

There wasn’t much more time before he’d give out, Qui-Gon knew it now. All the more pressing to get them all to safety.

 

In the meantime, Obi-Wan was led backwards by Dooku’s ferocious attacks, more or less reduced now to mere self-defense.

 

Sweat had broken upon his brows, and his copper hair stuck to his forehead.

 

Qui-Gon nudged Palpatine to follow him, but a renewed source of battle droids had them backed up into a corner within seconds. A swing of his lightsaber, a push of the Force were enough, though, and they could move on.

 

Once he’d realized Qui-Gon wouldn’t be swayed by his threats, Dooku had turned his attention back to Obi-Wan, who held out despite his weakening body.

 

“I’m sure you remember our little rendezvous on Geonosis, young Master”, he slurred, not even out of breath. “As I am holding it in such very high regards.

 

“I’m curious what Qui-Gon there would say to what I discovered in your head during our long, long talks back in that hospitable chamber of mine.”

 

The hair on Qui-Gon’s neck stood on end at the tone in Dooku’s voice. Dooku smiled at him as if he could feel it, too.

 

“I’ve been so far up inside I could practically taste your doubts, boy. Your fears”, he practically purred at Obi-Wan, his smile adopting a deranged quality. 

 

“That’s enough!” Qui-Gon could hear himself shout. He abandoned the Chancellor’s side, commanding Anakin through their bond to take over protecting Palpatine from potential attacks.

 

When his lightsaber touched Dooku’s, he bristled. Fighting his old Master alongside Obi-Wan hit painfully close to home. Dangerously close.

 

He tried to shut himself off this old connection with Dooku, elegantly parring his blows where Obi-Wan had to reach up to hold his own with the two taller men.

 

Now that was dancing, alright. He felt a surge within his bones that he hadn’t felt in years, hadn’t needed to feel on any of his peacekeeping missions.

 

“Oh, my dear, dear Qui-Gon”, Dooku taunted, parring a particularly daring jab. “So many years past Mastership, yet you’ve so much to learn still.”

 

“And what would that be”, he could hear his own demanding tone. Obi-Wan shot him a quick, warning glance as he ducked beneath Dooku’s blade and parried another hit when Dooku followed his stance.

 

Qui-Gon ignored it.

 

“A lesson your old Padawan had much opportunity to learn, dear one”, Dooku whispered, suddenly pulling Qui-Gon close with the Force.

 

“In times of war, sticking to the rules comes with a disadvantage”, he breathed into Qui-Gon’s face, a sudden red light flashing in his eyes as he Force-pushed Qui-Gon away from him.

 

Qui-Gon crashed down, one leg caught underneath him. He suppressed the spikes of pain and picked himself up from the floor, angered by the mischievousness in his old Master’s voice, angered by the implications aimed at his old apprentice.

 

It scorched his insides, feeling his doubts and fears towards Obi-Wan confirmed. And by their sworn enemy, no less.

 

A yet undiscovered pool fury inside him swamped his mind. He spoke without thinking.

  
“I’m sure you’ve taught him plenty”, he hissed, glancing at Obi-Wan before facing Dooku again.

 

“Oh, I can picture it! Two people trained to be Jedi. Their minds now on war, among themselves. I am sure you had plenty to talk about.”

 

Far too late he realized his own mistake. At his words, meant to harm, and with their old Padawan-bond open like floodgates, Obi-Wan had caved in as if he’d received a blow to his guts.

 

Dooku seared his left arm in the blink of an eye, then shut down his own lightsaber playfully and delivered a crushing blow to Obi-Wan’s jaw with his fist.

 

Obi-Wan staggered back and fell down, groaning in pain and momentarily disoriented, but still grasping his saber with a firm grip.

 

Qui-Gon felt himself reel with the blow, and staggered to close up his connection to their bond, still in shock. What had he done?

_What have I done?_

 

Giving air to an almost inhuman scream, Anakin shot forward at Dooku. He caught him at a blind spot, delivering a nice cut to his side.

 

Qui-Gon wanted to join Anakin in the fight, but he felt as if his legs were glued to the spot. He recognized the taste of copper on his tongue and found that he’d bit down on his lips, drawing blood.

 

Taken by surprise, Dooku fell to his knees, one hand pressed tightly to the wound. His lightsaber cluttered to the floor and vanished underneath the pilot chair.

 

Qui-Gon watched as Anakin stood over him, lightsaber raised to Dooku’s neck, his eyes darkened with apprehension.

 

“Good, Anakin, good! Do it! Kill him! Kill him now!” Palpatine shouted from somewhere behind, momentarily forgotten by all of them.

 

For a brief second, Qui-Gon’s vision was blotted out by black smoke. He felt a surge of Darkness within the room, worse than he’d ever felt before. It was nauseating. Dooku looked at the Chancellor with an angry snarl.

 

Anakin blinked as if caught off guard by his old friend’s words.

 

“Anakin, no!” Qui-Gon shouted, hearing the same words uttered by Obi-Wan from the other side of the room.

 

“Do it!” Palpatine demanded again, eyeing Dooku with disgust.

 

Anakin lifted his lightsaber, readying for the deadly blow.

 

“No, Anakin!” Qui-Gon shouted again, sending a restraint through their Padawan bond.

 

Anakin jerked away, giving Dooku just enough time to bolt.

 

With enormous strength, he shoved Anakin to the side and, drawing onto the Force for speed, vanished out if sight.

 

“Where is he?” Anakin shouted, hoarse from screaming, sending the pain he felt throughout the chamber.

 

Even Palpatine winced at the sensation. Anakin’s anger hadn’t spared him either, the room cackled with it like it was electricity.

 

Qui-Gon’s eyed darted through the deck, confused. His sudden glimpse of darkness merged with the unfamiliar sensation of two Padawan bonds, both screaming. One in complete rage, the other in pain.

  
“There,” Palpatine yelled, pointing with an outstretched arm towards the stairs. Qui-Gon’s eyes followed, widening as he saw what the Chancellor pointed at.

 

Dooku was at the top of the staircase. The laugh on his lips chilled Qui-Gon to the bone.

 

He had Obi-Wan in a tight grip, one hand clawing in his hair, drawing back his head and forcing the shorter man upright. With his other hand he held Obi-Wan’s uninjured arm from him, managing to wring Obi-Wan’s lightsaber from his grasp. The blade was so close to Obi-Wan’s neck it threatened to scorch the skin right off him.

 

Obi-Wan bit his lip in apparent pain, only short of crying out as Dooku pulled his head further back, exposing the white of his throat.

 

Qui-Gon realized it was Dooku himself who kept Obi-Wan vertical, as his feet were just barely touching the ground. If he’d let go, Obi-Wan would fall, severing his head from his shoulders with his own weapon.

 

At long last, Obi-Wan’s wounds seemed to take their toll on the Jedi. He twitched in Dooku’s grasp, low sounds of exhaustion escaping his throat.

 

The Force screamed at Qui-Gon as if itself in agony. Qui-Gon’s eyes met Obi-Wan’s, two large globes, like living planets.

 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, his lips moving.

  
Qui-Gon couldn’t make out the words but he felt them through the Force. His own name screamed in his ears, a plea, or an apology.

 

Behind Dooku, the elevator doors opened, swallowing both Sith and Jedi. Obi-Wan’s mouth opened wide as the doors slid closed, his face marred by pain and distress.

 

Then there was a scream, audible both in the Force and without, a black tear gaping in Qui-Gon’s heart, the sound making him and Anakin keel over in pure anguish. And then, there was nothing, nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, the End of Part I. 
> 
> Summer writing didn't go as planned but I promise it's not an abandoned series. It'll just take some more time than I anticipated.   
> I hope you'll still be with me once I've dealt with the dry spell x

**Author's Note:**

> Whenever I reread every chapter, I find new stuff to alter. I think it's time to stop and just get it out here already. (It's not getting better anyway.)


End file.
